Deo Donum
by Nancy T
Summary: How had he sunk so far, so fast?
1. Chapter 1

_ The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc._

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Castiel was dragged to a gray room and the other angels forced him into an empty nude human form that lay on the floor like a discarded doll. Enochian symbols were tattooed across its back, ensuring that whatever spirit occupied the form wouldn't be released until the right words were spoken by someone else.

Once he was imprisoned in the human form, they threw him into a circle surrounded by Enochian symbols and stood back as Isabel began chanting. The very ether within the circle began thickening, the greater density muting light and sound.

The last sight Castiel saw, the last words he heard, were Ephraim saying, "Too good for him," as the walls of the Chamber closed completely around him.

.

He had always been fascinated by human beings, and surely, surely, this interest was a gift from God. Some of his fellow angels thought this fascination amusing, some found it repellent. But down through the centuries, as the weird hybrid of animal and spirit began exerting more control over its planet, and as Lucifer found them more useful, angels who had been ordered to save a human soul or to bring about a miraculous change in a human's behavior came to Castiel more and more frequently. He became – a term Dean Winchester would later teach him – the go-to guy for help with humans.

Perhaps losing himself in his work was a way of escaping the fear. He didn't know why he was afraid. Angels are connected in a way humans can't understand, and the pinched rigid contraction of fear had been threading through the collective angelic energy for a very long time.

It hadn't been Lucifer's fall; that had created shock and horror, but he was certain that God's influence had caused the eventual balance and re-stabilizing. No, the fear had begun much later than that. At some point he sensed a void, and knew that others sensed it; there were odd contradictions when the archangels would come out of their conclaves, as though God hadn't told them exactly what needed to be done and how to do it. Gabriel's energy dimmed with unhappiness, Michael's cooled with grim quiet, Raphael's blazed with anger. Rumors (even in Heaven there are rumors) that God was distancing himself from the archangels grew to rumors that God couldn't be found anywhere in Heaven. Michael and Raphael denied it furiously, and regularly began sending angels who'd said that to the Chamber – a form of punishment that had seldom been used before.

If Castiel had been human, this hysterical need to silence the rumor would have told him everything he needed to know; but he wasn't human, and it simply never occurred to him that Michael and Raphael might lie. Then Gabriel left Heaven, and the stabilizing after that shock took a long time, as though it were being handled by far less calm and loving minds than God's.

While Castiel couldn't help but feel the fear pervading Heaven, he also didn't understand it. To him it was clear – either God was testing the archangels or the archangels were testing lower level angels, and what was there to fear from a test? If you knew that God existed, your faith was unshaken. If your faith was unshaken, your actions would be right. Even when they told him that his superior Anaciel, who had always understood and to enjoyed his interest in humans, had fallen, his faith never wavered. He mourned his reckless angry sister as a human might mourn a brother who'd committed murder, but he never pondered whether Anaciel might not have fallen if it hadn't been for Michael's and Raphael's regime. Nor did he consider that falling from Heaven to become a human, as Anaciel had, should maybe be considered a lesser crime than falling from Heaven in an attempt to overthrow God, as Lucifer had. Castiel's faith in the greater angels of Heaven was very strong.

And when he found his spirits too stretched or tattered between the fears of humanity and the fears of Heaven, he'd find a baby.

For many years he'd conducted a small experiment with adult humans, trying to learn more about them. When one of them was alone and quiet, he would reveal just the tiniest fraction of himself to them. It looked to them like floating specks of unearthly radiance, and felt like the softest touch of a Heavenly breeze. Castiel had become expert in predicting which human spirits would shrivel as though a guilty secret were haunting them, which would leap as though they'd received a divine revelation, and which wouldn't change a bit, those being the humans who'd rub their eyes and mumble that they had to get more sleep somehow.

A few hundred years ago he'd run across a baby at the edge of a field, being guarded by a dog, while his family worked to bring in crops. He'd conducted his experiment with the baby, and been rewarded with a laugh of purest happiness, the baby waving its little arms in excitement, his spirit brightening till Castiel swore it outshone his own little spiritual gleams. It never failed with babies: Some simply looked at him wide-eyed, some laughed out loud, but in all of them the spirit leaped to dazzling brilliance. God had not abandoned any universe in which these babies' spirits dwelt.

Of course, he never told anyone that his greatest spiritual comfort came from human infants. Not that he minded being the butt of jokes. He almost missed being the butt of jokes, Gabriel's energy vibrating as if with coarse laughter, wheeling and coruscating like God's own fireworks as he urged Castiel to loosen up.

But these days being different didn't mean your fellow angels would tease you. It meant they'd treat you like they didn't trust you, like you'd added another strand to the unspoken causeless fear threading its way through the angels' energy.

One day, an angel from Castiel's own garrison happened to be on the scene when a human hunter named Sam Winchester was, using questionable methods, exorcising a demon. The demon was taunting Sam about Sam's brother, who had apparently died and gone to Hell. The angel's main reaction had been that taunting a human about something like that didn't seem like the best way to stay in your human host, and indeed Sam had promptly and vigorously sent the creature back where it belonged, but not before it had tittered, "Hell's the perfect place for such a righteous man!"

For a moment, as the putrid seething smoke of the demon settled through the floorboards, Sam had studied the unconscious human vessel tied to a chair. That last phrase had somehow been significant to the demon, and Sam clearly wondered why, but then the vessel awoke, gasping, and Sam's concentration had gone to the human.

The angel, though, knew exactly why the phrase was significant, and by the time Sam had untied the man and was asking if he was all right, the angel was reporting to her superiors.

The fear was no longer causeless.

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"What do you know about the Apocalypse?" Zachariah asked.

(He didn't use words, of course, but for purposes of this history we'll have to translate angelic telepathy to human speech.)

Castiel kept his energy steady at the question, which wasn't easy. Hundreds of angels had been sent to a battlefield from which no one could read their energy, which was unheard of. Tension and rumors had been rife, and angelic energy generally was flickering and flaring like a light bulb near a malevolent spirit. "It is a prophecy, the final battle between our forces and those of Lucifer." Even now Castiel felt sorrow about just the prospect of warring against his older brother.

"How does it begin?"

"It begins when Lucifer walks the earth, possesses a human vessel, and raises – "

"Back further. How does Lucifer walk the earth?"

"Oh! He breaks loose from the cage in Hell where he's confined. More than 600 seals fused to human behavior and Earth's biosphere keep Lucifer in the cage. If 66 of those seals are broken within six lunar months, he can escape."

"And the first seal?"

"A righteous man spills blood in Hell. Do you mind if I ask, sir - "

" – why you're being drilled like a student? Because I have a vitally important mission for you, and I need to know you're prepared."

"I'm honored. What is it?"

"I need you to retrieve the righteous man who is in Hell right now."

Castiel's energy shuddered noticeably, but anyone's would have.

Zachariah, in contrast, seemed oddly placid. "We've been laying siege to Hell for several weeks, starving them of light and souls, working in a narrowing circle, scattering or destroying the cockroaches we're not looking for. Now we've formed a silent ring around the den of an infernal torturer called Alastair. The demons think we've gone; they're celebrating their victory against Heaven's incompetent raiders. We are quietly constructing an energy passageway straight from Heaven to Alastair's den. We need you – "

"Pardon me, sir. I mean no disrespect. But if the man has been there for weeks in human time – "

"Oh, it's been months," quite casually. "Four or so."

Castiel's energy darkened. "Then he's broken, sir. He's doing anything they want. Time in Hell, to humans, is like – like time in the Chamber, to us."

"You've never been sent to the Chamber, have you?"

"No, sir. But I have some sources of information. The stretching of time in the Chamber allows a maximum correction of the angel's attitude in a minimum of time here. It's the same for humans in Hell, sir. If he's been there for four months, it feels like 40 years to him. He has certainly spilled blood."

"Well, maybe, maybe not." Still that odd placidity. "His father was down there for almost a year and never broke."

"He's John Winchester's son?"

"Yes indeedy." (Best translation of Zachariah's jolly affirmative.) "The bloodline is valuable to us. The son and his brother both have work to do, especially if we're going to be keeping Lilith from breaking seals and releasing Lucifer."

"I wondered if Lilith was behind this."

"Lilith, and a demon named Azazel who got destroyed before his plot thickened."

"Azazel. Wait." There are so many humans on Earth, and so many struggling against evil of all kinds, but now Castiel was remembering. "Azazel fed his own blood to several human infants in North America, one of them John and Mary Winchester's son Sam. Azazel killed Mary when she tried to stop the rite, and John Winchester became a fearsome demon hunter to avenge her death."

"Well." Zachariah's energy stretched with amusement. "To the extent that a human can be fearsome."

"Azazel killed John and dragged his soul to Hell, but by that time John's sons were grown men and hunters in their own right. Dean killed Azazel, and John's soul escaped from Hell and is now with us. Sam is the only survivor of the children who were fed Azazel's blood."

"I knew you were up to speed."

"So the influence of the demon blood finally doomed Sam to perdition?" Castiel asked.

"No, he's not the one down there. Dean is."

"How in the name of our Father did Dean Winchester end up in Hell?"

"Sam was killed last year. Dean traded his soul to bring Sam back to life."

Castiel didn't even try to disguise his reaction.

"I know," and again Zachariah was amused, even as Castiel controlled his horror. "You really do wonder sometimes if God honestly did give them brains. So! If he hasn't spilled blood yet, we have to stop him from doing it. If he _has_ broken the first seal, we're going to have Apocalypse-related work for him on Earth. Either way, we need someone to go down there and get that boy back. And we've chosen you."

"Why is that, sir?"

A moment's pause. "You ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

Castiel deliberately dimmed his energy. "I beg your pardon."

A longer pause. Then Zachariah said, "Well. It should be obvious, anyway. Your expertise with humans. Have you ever been near a completely corrupted human soul?"

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't. No corrupting influence of Earth does to a human soul what Hell can do. For one of us with minimal expertise in humans to be close to the thing Dean Winchester has become would be like – like – there must be some appropriately revolting metaphor from Earth – "

"Kissing a rotting corpse," Castiel suggested.

"Yes. Only worse. It helps that you're a fine warrior, Castiel, but I can't send just any warrior down there. If I sent your aide Uriel on this mission, he'd take one look at Dean, throw him even deeper into Hell, and then go to Earth and take a vessel just so he could spend a few days vomiting away his disgust. It needs to be someone who is comfortable enough with humans that he's willing to grab a corrupted soul, haul it to Earth, restore its decaying body, and then keep it on an even keel during very hazardous times. It's a vile job, and I don't envy you. But it's got to be done."

"I understand, sir. When do I begin?"

"Now," Zachariah said, and Castiel was at the entrance to the passageway.

It was narrow and guarded by angels all the way down to the Earth, the whole thing invisible to humans. The six angels guarding the entrance turned their attention to him as he arrived.

He paused long enough to assume a human form. Winchester's soul probably still assumed his human form, and it would be easier to deal with a human soul if Castiel was in a recognizable shape. At the same time, he wanted to make his power clear. He chose an interpretation of Michael by a medieval painter – white wings, flashing sword, flowing hair, and all. Even Michael, so grim these days, would have been pretty amused. Like Winchester's shape and like whatever shape Alastair had assumed, it would have been no use for dealing with the physical realities of Earth, but it would be perfectly serviceable in Hell.

The energy of the closest angel to him was pulsing irregularly with something close to fear. "Good luck, sir," she said tremulously.

He extended a hand, calming her shivers. "Peace, child. All will be as it's meant to be."

Then he leaped into the passageway.

It looked to humans like a lightning strike. When he cleaved Earth with the sword he was instantly transported to the realm of damned spirits (something no human device could have done). He could see the invisible ring of angelic soldiers below surrounding Alastair's den. He had only seconds to assess things before he was there.

_The half-human half-monster chewing on the intestines of a human soul on the rack – that's clearly Alastair. The soul on the rack was a torturer himself in life, and the effect of Hell on him is like the effect of a hammer on a doll – distressing but not revolting. But the giggling human soul standing by the rack holding a bloody knife – that soul was brilliant and beautiful in life, and the effect of Hell is as if a human had deliberately put a drill into his own face. I'll have to steel myself, remind myself that this thing is my Father's creation too. Now!_

He smashed into the room with a war cry and a blinding flash of light, and the battle was on.

The soul on the rack screamed. The Alastair monster made some bizarre cackling noises and three other creatures leaped into the doorway. But now the soldiers of Heaven showed themselves and began striking down any other demons who tried to get near. The sounds of blows and cries, flashes of painful light and moments of pitch darkness, surrounded the den.

Castiel leaped over the rack. All he had to do was get one hand on –

The vilest thing in creation, flickering energy gone orange and crusted over with pus and blood and shards, a grinning human form wrapped around it –

Winchester plunged his knife into Castiel's heart and dodged around the rack.

Alastair had assumed a human form so that he could begin saying the Latin chant that would send Castiel back to Heaven. Cursing his own hesitation, Castiel pulled the knife out of his chest and threw it at Alastair, who vanished. One of the intruding demons grabbed Winchester – he had no problem with it – pulling him toward the door. The other two attacked Castiel at once, one with a sword and one with a short black spear. Castiel struck both weapons aside and made quick work of the demon with the sword, but then he felt searing pain in the right side of his gut and realized that the spear was in him.

He backed up, gasping, slashing the sword in front of him, although the demon didn't seem intent on attacking again. Indeed, both he and the demon gripping Winchester's arm stood still, watching him, smiling. Smiling? Alastair reappeared. Winchester shrugged off the demon's hand as if an underling were being presumptuous.

_How could my Father allow this horror to exist? Does He not care? It must be as they say, He's abandoned us. Winchester's knife was bloody, he's broken the first seal, and Lucifer will be upon us. Alastair's chanting again, he'll send me back to Heaven a failure._

He fell to his knees and his sword clattered on the stone floor.

Alastair stopped chanting and walked toward him, a measured pace. "Well, now. Isn't this interesting."

Castiel could have pulled the spear out of his gut. But what would be the purpose? He was already doomed, they all were. He couldn't believe he'd had such hope just moments ago, how pathetic.

_I did have hope moments ago, strong belief. I can't believe I'm giving up so fast. I've never given up like this in battle before. _

Alastair picked up Castiel's sword. Even the haft clearly hurt Alastair's hands, but clearly he didn't care. "I understand," he said, a sardonic drag to his voice, "that the only weapon that can kill an angel is an angelic weapon. I wonder – "

He ran the edge of the blade up the side of Castiel's face, and Castiel couldn't stop the groan of pain that burst from him. He had no fire to throw at Alastair. The two demons and Winchester all laughed. Castiel braced himself on the ice-cold floor, feeling the light of his grace pulsing out of the slash on his face. The spear's point shifted in his gut, and he felt a fresh spurt of despair.

_It's the spear. It's not a physical weapon, it's spiritual. I have to get rid of that thing. Just a moment of will, just one moment more of fight –_

Alastair had the sword's point at Castiel's eye. Castiel turned his head and lowered it as though in defeat.

Then his hands shot up and grabbed Alastair's hand that held the haft. With all his remaining will, he turned Alastair's wrist, the blade slashing Alastair's ear and shoulder, and slammed Alastair's clenched hand and the sword haft hard onto the spear handle, driving it deeper into himself. The spear's point leaped out Castiel's back.

Castiel lifted one hand to Alastair's face, and Alastair leaped away, dropping the sword. One of the demons ran at Castiel, but Castiel grabbed the sword with his left hand and, in a backhand slash, finished the demon. He stood, moved his right hand to his back, and yanked the spear completely out. The pain was excruciating, but now he was able to fight the despair.

The third demon fled, taking his chances with the battle outside. Castiel forced himself to focus on Winchester. But now Alastair, blood all over his face, was chanting again, and he couldn't let that happen. He raised his sword and turned toward Alastair.

And suddenly there were hands around his throat. Dean Winchester slammed Castiel back against the icy stone wall, slick with gore, and yelled over his shoulder in desperate determination, "Alastair! Run!"

Castiel clapped his right hand on Dean's upper arm. "Success!" he yelled in a voice that resonated throughout Hell, and fled as his fellow soldiers left the pit in a blue-white sunburst.

Winchester's soul only stopped screaming when it met the rotted ruins of his body, but then there were other sounds: the rumble of the ground shaking, the roar as uprooted trees fell away from the gravesite, a howling wind that brought a spattering rain of blood. Through it all Castiel, now in his true form, worked to knit the soul back into the body, to restore the festering flesh and organs (far less repulsive than dealing with that soul), using his own energy to act as a conduit for life, weakening the coffin lid so that Winchester could get out, and scattering three feet of earth in all directions so that the human was buried only shallowly.

He pulled back from the gravesite, hovering in the air over the fallen trees, watching, waiting.

And considering the most astonishing thing he had ever seen.

"Alastair! Run!"

The surprising thing wasn't that Winchester seemed to feel like he and Alastair were in this together. Alastair had had plenty of time to break Winchester's soul down, crumbling from Alastair's defiant prisoner to his submissive puppet to his partner in crime.

But partners in crime betray each other all the time, especially in Hell. "Everyone for himself" is the only lesson Hell has to teach, and forty years is more than long enough to learn it.

And even so, Winchester had attacked an angel, whom he knew to be much stronger than himself, hoping to give Alastair time to escape.

Courage. And self-sacrifice. After forty years in Hell.

In thousands of years of observing humans, Castiel had never seen anything so amazing, and he thanked God for letting him be the one to witness it.

No wonder Heaven had work for –

"Dean Winchester is saved." The news was already resonating through the angelic dimension; Castiel could hear it even as he saw Dean's hand stab upward through the earth.

The moment Castiel saw Dean chug half a bottle of water at the deserted gas station/convenience store he'd carefully arranged, he knew the mesh of soul and body was good. Attempted contact didn't go so well, so he needed to wait a couple of days while he found a human vessel named Jimmy Novak, persuaded Jimmy that an angel was really talking to him, and asked to use his body as Castiel's physical form on Earth, so that Castiel could communicate with and relate to all humans. Novak, a deeply religious man who had prayed to be of service to God, asked only for a promise that Heaven would protect his wife and daughter before he surrendered his autonomy.

By that time Dean, amnesiac about his last few moments in Hell, had convinced himself that only something horrifically evil could have freed him, so that the second time they met, Dean again began the proceedings by plunging a knife into Castiel's heart. Castiel had to control his smile.

.

Suddenly there were signs of intense demonic activity in half a dozen spots all over the globe. A small but violent lightning storm directly over a library in Egypt; a windstorm unrelated to air currents, as if a powerful witch were casting a spell, in the north-central United States; a fire at a long-revered grove of trees in France; and a severe but very localized earthquake that opened graves at a cemetery in the Ukraine were among them. All could, if you read the writings a certain way, possibly be seals. The units in garrisons were divided, some soldiers sent to the endangered sites, some sent to guard known seals in case the disturbances were diversions, some remaining on guard or in Heaven.

Castiel and some of his forces were sent to the endangered forest. By the time they got there, one tree was already engulfed in flame, but if they could save the rest they could save the seal. Castiel arrayed his forces around the small forest in case the blazing tree was a diversion. "Amenerat, deal with the fire," he ordered. "I'll deal with the human."

All of the angels were in their vessels, but of course Castiel could materialize in an instant by the teenage boy pouring gasoline on the forest floor. He was the only child of a depressed mother and a father largely absent at work. His spiritual longings were thought to be quite hilarious by a lot of his fellow students. He'd recently come under the influence of someone claiming to be a messenger of God. He desperately wished to be part of something larger than himself. Castiel could have worked with him if he'd had time, but he didn't have time.

A twitch of Castiel's hand wrenched the gasoline container out of the boy's hands and set it gently yards away without further spilling. "You must stop," Castiel said in perfect French, his voice resonating in a way no human's could have. He was emitting just enough light that his vessel was indistinct, a human silhouette surrounded by radiance.

The boy fell to his knees. "I'm – I'm doing your work!"

"You've been misled. The grove is sacred."

"To pagans! To godless pagans!"

"And is it your place – " Castiel began, then whirled to strike the demon who'd appeared behind him.

The demon staggered, then leaped at Castiel again, seizing his wrists. Castiel broke free easily and struck the demon in the gut. It bent, but as Castiel closed in the demon straightened suddenly, smashing the back of its head into the angel's chin.

"It's a demon!" the demon shouted to the boy. "Hurry! You know what you have to do!"

Castiel leaped backward, thinking the demon would pursue him, but the demon just ran. The boy ran, too – toward the center of the grove, splashing gasoline on himself as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter includes dialogue excerpts from the episodes "Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester" and "In the Beginning."_

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Castiel vanished, appeared in front of the demon, and pushed his palm against the demon's forehead. The demon tried to leap away, but now it was Cas' turn to grab his opponent's arm, pulling him toward Castiel. The creature gouged at Castiel's eye, damaging it, but the life force was escaping from its eyes and mouth and, in a flash, it was dead.

Castiel straightened, healed his eye in an instant, and vanished.

He reappeared beside the boy, whose shirt and pants were soaked with gasoline, holding a cigarette lighter that his hand was shaking too hard to work. "Your kind aren't welcome here!" the human shouted. "Go back ten thousand years! Go someplace where you can sacrifice to trees!"

Castiel sighed, locked his gaze with the boy's. Suddenly the human was a deer in the headlights, his hand still extended and shaking. Castiel took two steps, closed his hand over the boy's, and removed the lighter. The boy whimpered as Castiel touched his forehead, and the two vanished.

They reappeared by a pond in the grove, and Castiel threw the boy in. He floundered, gasped, dog-paddled to the edge. As he did, Castiel looked around – an angel's look rather than a human's, which meant he could see that all of his soldiers had either just finished combat with a demon or were still fighting one, although it looked like the demons were being routed.

He crouched as the boy neared the edge of the pond, and the boy flinched backward.

"If the message is of fear and hatred," Castiel said, "it is not of God. Remember that. We'll be watching."

He vanished, leaving the boy gasping in the water.

He went back to the tree that had been burning. It was now blackened, but Amenerat had been able to quell the flames before they spread. Amenerat himself, however, was on the ground, lying on his left side, where a black spear entered his ribcage.

Castiel looked around quickly for enemies before he dropped to his knees. "Amenerat, I'm going to pull this from you. It will hurt, but then you can heal. Are you ready?"

Amenerat looked up at Castiel. His eyes were sad and his limbs were flaccid. Castiel braced one hand on Amenerat's arm and pushed the spear out fast.

Amenerat flinched and closed his eyes.

"I've been attacked with this weapon," Castiel told him. "Its effect is more spiritual than physical. Now that it's out, you can begin fighting the effects."

The other angel opened his eyes. "Why?"

"Why? So that you can live. So that you can continue to serve God."

"God doesn't care if I serve Him. God has abandoned us."

"That isn't true. You must have faith, Amenerat. You must fight this. You can overcome its effects. I did."

"You're stronger than most of us, Castiel."

Castiel's eyebrows drew together. "I have only as much strength as the rest of you."

Amenerat shook his head with a slight smile. "You're different, Castiel. There was a time when that was good. Do you remember? When God was with us? He enjoyed our differences. I think He felt they gave strength to His creation. Now we've lost our strength. And we're going to lose to Lucifer."

"We will not." Castiel was trying to heal the wound, but if the angel himself wouldn't heal it, Castiel had little chance. "Fight this, Amenerat. This – this is cowardice unbecoming a warrior. Perhaps we don't feel God's presence as we used to, but we know. We know He exists. We know He cares."

"Perhaps He does," Amenerat said. "But I no longer do."

And then he ceased to exist.

There is no 911, no treatment, when an angel decides to put out his own light. He's gone, and there's nothing to be done.

Castiel bowed his head.

"Was he right?"

Castiel started. Amenerat's host was whispering, "Has God gone away?"

"No. God is with us," and Castiel touched the wound, but the host was already walking away with a reaper and the vessel was empty.

Castiel drew in on himself as he repressed a cry of sorrow.

"Castiel." A deep, abrupt voice beside him forced him to banish his feeling and look up.

"The grove is secure. The seal is saved," Uriel reported.

Castiel stood, studying Uriel's face. "But there's something else."

"There is." With a slight jerk of his head, Uriel indicated that Castiel should follow him, and they both vanished.

They reappeared on the other side of the grove, where another angel lay dead.

Castiel gasped and dropped to the ground to examine the vessel. There was no indication that this angel had died the despairing, passive death of Amenerat. The vessel lay on its back, one knee bent and that foot dug into the ground. One of his fists was still clenched, and his eyes and mouth were open as if he were trying desperately to communicate. There was a bloody hole at the base of his throat, but no sign of a weapon.

"I took the liberty of sending the others back," Uriel said. "I thought you would want to see this before anyone else did."

"Why?"

"Because I don't understand how they did this. I don't understand where demons are getting knowledge of how to kill angels, unless – perhaps – "

Castiel stood and faced Uriel. "I know you're not accusing one of our brethren of helping the enemy."

And after a moment, Uriel shook his head. "No. Of course not. Forgive me, Castiel. I cannot recall the last time two angels were destroyed in one battle. It is – unsettling."

"It's more than unsettling. It's catastrophic. And I have no idea how to explain it."

Castiel wasn't the only leader with something to explain, however. In all of the battles to save seals that day, four other angels were destroyed with the lance of despair.

And then it turned out that the vague signs of occult activity in the north-central United States had actually been well cloaked signals of a very powerful demon raising angry, accusing spirits from their rest. The Winchesters and their friend Bobby Singer put an end to the Rising of the Witnesses, but the seal had been broken nonetheless, and Amenerat and five others had died fighting diversionary tactics.

.

"Bang-up job so far," Dean Winchester said bitterly. "Stellar work with the Witnesses. Nice."

Castiel tried, he tried so hard to remember the isolation of being human. They don't have the ongoing spiritual connection of angels, their spirits compartmentalized inside their bodies, so each of them thinks that whatever's happening to him at the moment is the only thing that's happening. Castiel had just told Winchester about the seals, about the very real possibility of Lucifer rising and the Apocalypse beginning, and while Winchester didn't really grasp the full reality, he believed it enough to be shaken. Of course his fear would show as rage – toward Castiel, which would have been all right on any other day, and toward God, which God could certainly take but which riled Castiel.

"We tried," Castiel said quietly, his anger making his voice rasp a little. "There are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost."

Dean gave a contemptuous half-laugh, and Castiel had had enough. "Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here."

He moved very close to Dean, because he knew humans found that unnerving. "You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in."

Months later, as he lay suffering in the Chamber, Castiel would think: Perhaps that's when it began, my humanization. I let myself threaten Dean not because he needed discipline, but because I was grieving and shocked and his petulance made me angry.

But he distinctly remembered thinking at the time: This is why humans occasionally have to swat a disobedient dog on the nose. And if he was thinking that way about Dean, surely Castiel hadn't gone too far in his human attachment. Not then.

.

He found Sam Winchester's current activities deeply worrying. He didn't know what work his superiors had in mind for Dean, but obviously he was important. Castiel had to think that it was unacceptable for such an important human to be that close to a man who was consorting (in every sense of the word) with a demon, exorcising demons by using superhuman abilities, and skulking around to keep it all secret from his brother.

He didn't understand why Zachariah seemed not to care. He tried to believe that there was a plan by Michael and Raphael that would take care of it all, but Sam got deeper into his double life and no plan was even slightly evident. Zachariah, acting as though he'd been worn down by Castiel's reports, finally let Castiel take Dean into the past so that he would understand about the demon blood Sam had been fed as a baby, only a few drops of which were enough to give Sam supernatural powers – hard for any human to resist using – and to give his soul an ongoing lifetime pull toward darkness. However, Zachariah ordered Castiel not to take direct action about Sam.

If Castiel had been human, he'd have said that was insane. As it was, he desperately tried to figure it out. Why would Heaven let Sam, who had spent his life as a warrior against darkness, continue to debase himself? Why let Dean linger in ignorance but growing suspicion, letting that suspicion turn into a wedge that could eventually divide the brothers? Why take the risk that such a powerful team could be permanently split?

Well, after all, Zachariah wasn't an archangel. True, no angel should question a superior of any level, but – well, Zachariah wasn't an archangel. He might not understand the importance of this issue. And Michael and Raphael must of course be completely consumed by worldwide issues as they worked to avert the Apocalypse.

Castiel calmed himself. No, it wasn't like he was rebelling. He was simply filling a gap his superiors were too busy to fill. He'd take Dean on the trip to the past, and, as ordered, he wouldn't confront Sam. But no one had told Castiel that he couldn't give Dean a little additional knowledge.

Dean tried vigorously to change the past, feeding his energy with his vast reservoirs of emotion. Castiel almost hated to see him fail, because the attempt made Dean feel more like the Righteous Man Castiel knew him to be and less like the sadistic blood-splattered criminal he'd been in Hell. But of course he had to fail.

"Destiny can't be changed, Dean," Castiel told him quietly once they were back in the half-dark present-day motel room that was the Winchesters' current base. "All roads lead to the same destination."

"Then why'd you send me back?" Dean was crushed with disappointment.

"For the truth," Castiel said. "Now you know everything we do."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Castiel glanced at Sam's bed, which had obviously not been slept in, and Dean asked quickly, "Where's Sam?"

"We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why – what his end game is. He went to great lengths to cover that up." But I can almost guarantee you that he wanted Sam to play some role in the Apocalypse, he almost said – then decided that this would only anger Dean further.

Dean seemed almost calm. "Where's Sam?"

"Four twenty-five Waterman."

Dean threw on his jacket and checked his gun, and while there was trepidation in his soul it brightened with being able to take an action, find something out, maybe protect Sam.

"Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean. We're not sure where it leads, so stop it. Or we will."

Dean hesitated in the doorway as his fear flared briefly. Then he was gone.

And the instant he left, Castiel went completely still, feeling like he'd just slapped himself hard across the face.

Of course, he had no idea whether Heaven would stop Sam if he persisted in pandering to the darkness within him. But it was entirely possible. He'd known angels to take direct action with humans before. Every time they fought to save a seal, they were taking direct action to affect human and angelic destiny.

But – All roads lead to the same destination. Destiny can't be changed.

The contradiction was so massive and he realized it so suddenly that he had to sit Jimmy's body down while Castiel's energy spun and sparked dizzyingly.

If there was one thing all angels knew, it was that the Plan cannot be changed. God created the Plan, the archangels know the Plan, angels and humans are merely playing their parts in the Plan. Michael was insistent on the point. And Michael _was_ an archangel.

But then why were Heaven's forces dying to keep the seals of Lucifer's cage from breaking? If the plan included Lilith's failure, she would fail, and probably destroy herself in the process. If, God forbid, the plan included Lilith's success, then all the struggle in the world wouldn't avert the Apocalypse. Why send angels out to fight and die? Why even lift a finger? It would make no sense.

It must be that actions affect the outcome, and if there was a Plan, God had the capacity to adapt it to the hundreds of millions of tweaks given to it by angels and humans. Which meant that the archangels didn't, after all, know the Plan.

But Michael couldn't be wrong.

(Could he?)

Castiel shook his head. This must have been the way Anaciel was thinking before she fell, ripping her Grace from her and discarding it like trash. He couldn't follow her down that road.

(Could he?)

.

"I believe that we should begin taking more direct action to prevent breaking of the seals," Castiel told Zachariah. "I believe that, rather than waiting for demonic activity, we should be – what's the American term – proactive."

They were both using human speech now, because they were both in vessels. Zachariah had found a vessel with a very pleasant physical existence, and they were sitting on the deck of a yacht in the Mediterranean Sea. Even late at night on the water, the temperature was mild and the sea was so calm that the moon cast a straight ribbon of light on the surface. Castiel had had a sip of something called a bloody Mary, which, despite its distressing name, tasted rather good.

Of course, if Zachariah threw him overboard – or into the Chamber – for suggesting something contrary to the Plan, that would end Castiel's enjoyment abruptly.

Zachariah, however, seemed only amused. "You've always been such a nice quiet sort, Castiel. All of a sudden you're plaguing me with constant reports, fretting your fellows about research into demonic weapons, asking to be proactive – do you want a promotion to archangel? Or to my position, maybe?"

"I want to stop the Apocalypse."

"Oh. Well, yes." Zachariah leaned back in his deck chair. "You don't feel that this is the job of your superiors?"

"Of course it is, sir. But there are so many aspects to this, so many seals. Wouldn't it be of assistance to the greater angels if a small group of us each researched one seal, discovered what the prophecy means, and worked to protect the seal before the demons make their assault?"

"Mm. Perhaps." Castiel found Zachariah's vessel's face as difficult to read as his energy. His superior took Heaven's secrets very seriously. "You wouldn't come to me with this suggestion unless you'd already researched a seal."

"Yes, sir. The three hundred forty-fifth can only be broken by a knife thrice dipped in blood on hallowed ground in the rain."

"Well. That's thoroughly vague."

"Perhaps not, sir." Castiel brought a folded road map out of an inner pocket of his coat and opened it on the table, moving aside their drinks. "There's a town in the United States – just here."

"La Lluvia. 'The rain' in Spanish."

"Exactly. Cattle were found dead without physical cause on a ranch near there last week, sir. I believe that demons are in the area to cause some kind of violence at a church in La Lluvia. I would like permission to take three or four soldiers to the area and investigate."

Zachariah, who had leaned forward to look at the map, leaned back again and was giving Castiel another slightly hard, unreadable smile. "No. We can't spare them. But you can go yourself and take a look. If you find incontrovertible proof that this is where a seal is to be broken, you can send for help."

Castiel was folding the map. "Thank you very much, sir."

A crew member came over to say, "Can I get you anything else, sir?" As Zachariah dismissed him, the crew member looked over at Castiel with a smile, then went back whence he'd come.

"I seem to amuse him," Castiel said.

Zachariah waved his hand in Castiel's direction. "It's the getup. Very few humans wear a business suit and trench coat on a yacht in the Mediterranean."

"I'll remember that if I come back here. Your vessel is interesting. It's not often that one finds such devotion to God in such a wealthy human."

"Oh, he believes in God enough. But once I was able to demonstrate the power we'd have, that was the real selling point. He wanted a promise that I'd shut down a business rival of his."

"I see."

"As it happens, his rival desperately needs taking down a peg, so I granted him that. Did your vessel ask you for anything?"

"Jimmy wants me to protect his family."

"That's it?"

"That's all. He wants to be of service to God."

Zachariah smiled. "Yes, that's the kind of vessel you would find. Well! You'll be wanting to get to La Lluvia. One thing, though: If we need you for anything related to Dean Winchester – "

"I'll go there immediately, of course." Castiel stood, then looked over at the door the crewman had used. "Won't your crew think it's strange if your visitor simply – disappears in the middle of the sea?"

"You know, they don't seem to retain their memories of my visitors too well."

It was Castiel's turn to smile, albeit his small almost hidden smile. "No, I suppose not. Thank you again. I'll report soon."

"I know you will," Zachariah said wryly.

It was afternoon in La Lluvia, and while the sun had the weakened cast of late October, the air was warm. It was a mid-size town with numerous places of worship, and Castiel wanted to visit them all, but he also lingered in places where a lot of people were gathered, to get the feel of the town. There were financial strains, but few closed-up storefronts. The townspeople's concerns were universal – health, work, what the hell does my daughter see in that loser? At a jewelry store, a young man, his soul bright with hope, was looking over engagement rings. At a supermarket, a baby in a stroller smiled at Castiel and kicked his little feet in excitement. Castiel smiled back; he hadn't realized that babies could see him through the vessel.

But there was a demonic presence in this town. He couldn't see or hear any signs of it, but he could feel it, which meant there were perhaps only one or two demons but they were powerful. The sense of demonic presence remained only background in the places of worship he visited, never more prominent than everywhere else in town.

It was almost 5:30 when he reached the Athens Declaration Church on the west side of town and instantly knew that this was the place. No demon was physically present, but one had been, and its influence was smeared on the very air of the sanctuary. This demon was so invincible it could spend time in a church. Castiel felt his heart rate speed up, and wasn't sure if it was his own anxiety or Jimmy's, but they both had good cause to feel it.

If you couldn't sense the demon's presence, the church was a welcoming place, small but apparently thriving. The wall behind the altar, which worshippers faced, was robin's-egg blue and bore in large white letters the sentence, "WE GIVE OURSELVES FREELY IN SERVICE TO THE LORD." Cushions on the pews were worn but not threadbare, and the piano near the altar was less than 10 years old. The windows weren't stained glass, but were so clean that even low evening sunlight made the brass crucifix on the altar sparkle.

There were a few programs from last Sunday's service by the door, and Castiel scanned one. The schedule of a normal church service, birth announcements, requests for prayer, notices of church group and Bible study meetings. "We Give Ourselves Freely In Service to the Lord" was on the bottom of the program's first page, but Castiel was pleased to see that it wasn't on the stacked collection plates.

He moved out to the church's front porch and instantly knew that something was wrong nearby. His human gaze focused on the small house next door; his angelic gaze went inside.

A man and a young woman were making love in the bedroom. The man was the church's minister, and he loved wielding influence over other people with the nature of his work, his words, his looks. He was enraged that two of his previous churches had dismissed him, fearful that if it ever happened again he'd never be able to get the work that so gratified him. Getting away with the same sin here for which he'd been fired before was a huge part of his enjoyment with the woman.

The woman was perhaps 20, and a congregant. She was a waitress and spent a lot of time alone reading. Her mind was a mass of confusion and pain, religious images, spiritual and sensual hunger. She hadn't spoken to her parents since they'd asked her to get help for her mental health. She believed herself to have only one friend in the world, someone named Katie. The minister wasn't a friend, to her: He was some complex mix of God, Satan, and knight in shining armor. Her spirit was so vulnerable and malleable that you could practically see where demonic hands had recently been at work molding it.

The woman tipped her head back, her eyes opened and looking through the ceiling. Her arms stretched straight out to the sides, her fingers clutching the mattress, as she whispered, "I give myself freely – I give myself freely – "

The man moving in her grinned, and Castiel stopped watching.

He closed his eyes, opened them. One of his fists curled. There was a pop as a crack leaped down the foundation of the minister's house.

Then he calmed himself. A show of indignation wouldn't save the seal. He had to find the demon and destroy it before things reached whatever violent conclusion was planned.

"Can I help you?"

Castiel turned to meet the direct smiling gaze of a middle-aged black woman with crisply coiffed, graying hair and glasses. She worked at the church, but her family was the center of her life. She was conscious of both a shopping list and the time her husband would be home from work, but she wasn't going to ignore someone standing on the church's doorstep.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Um, yes. I'm in town on business for a few weeks, and I – I would like - "

"You're looking for a church home?"

"Yes. I know it's late, but is there any chance that I could meet the minister?"

"I'm sorry, he's out making calls on church members." She thought that was true. She had doubts about the minister, but no idea how bad things really were. "I'd be happy to - Oh, I know! There's a Bible study group meeting tonight led by Reverend Mahon. You'd be attending right in the middle of the series, but if you're interested – "

"I am very much interested."

"Well, good, then. Seven o'clock, in the first meeting room to the left of the sanctuary. Do you have a Bible with you?"

"I do."

"Do you have a place to stay while you're in town?"

"I do."

And then he realized that a human would leave now. "And I'm on my way there now," and he started down the front steps with her.

"What's your name?"

"Cass."

"Well, Cass, if you have any questions about the church, I'm the secretary and bookkeeper. I'll be in the office tomorrow after 9:00. My name's Martha."

"Hello, Martha. It's a pleasure to meet someone of such stability."

She laughed. "Well, thanks, but then don't come to the office Friday afternoon. I hope you enjoy the group tonight."

She got into her car, which was parked by the curb, and waved as she drove off.

Castiel spent the next hour searching for the demon or demons. He found none, but wasn't surprised, because he was using only a fraction of his power. He didn't want to give away his presence too soon.

He reappeared at the church at 7:00. Stephen Mahon met him with a smile and a friendly handshake, flinching only a little from Castiel's probing gaze. His lover, a thin pale girl with straight brown hair whose name was Lorraine, was sitting in one of the circled chairs highlighting a Bible, but looked up with a shy smile when introduced. There were five other church members there, and an empty chair next to Lorraine, when Mahon said, "Well, let's go ahead and get started. I guess Katie's running late again. Lorraine, you're a good influence on her; can't you get her to skip dessert on Tuesdays?"

Lorraine looked at him with a demure smile; her spirit brightened at his attention. "I think she thinks that would be too much of a sacrifice."

Mahon laughed. "Good segue, Lorraine. As you all know – all but Cass, I suppose – tonight's topic is sacrifice. How necessary is it to our spiritual life? How has the meaning of sacrifice changed down through the years? And how can we best follow – "

There were footsteps in the hall, and a creature bounded into the room on scaled legs with talons. The scales became bony plates over the body, thinned to scales over arms that ended in six-inch-long claws. A second set of forearms and claws projected from the elbows. The scales were stretched tight over the skull-like face, popping loose and oozing something brownish. The jutting under jaw revealed fangs, and the eyes were a solid milky white, rimmed with oozing scales.

"Thank you for joining us, Katie," Mahon said in a slightly reproving tone, as Lorraine patted the empty chair next to her.

"Sorry I'm late. Hi, everybody." The creature looked directly at Castiel as it sat down, and its face gapped in a flirtatious grin that burst more scales.

"And hi there, uh, new person," Lilith said, and laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

_ The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester."_

.

The pretty 19-year-old waitress with an alluring swing to her walk hesitated on the sidewalk. She and her best friend had just parted ways at her friend's apartment, and she herself only had a few more blocks to walk, but something about a rustle in the bushes or the fact that a street lamp was out seemed to give her pause.

She looked around, down, up. Even with the streetlight out, she could see how the branches of a tree ten feet up had been miraculously bent and curled, woven into the shape of a pentacle with figures around and in the center of the star.

She gestured. A rush of wind went through the tree, snapping and popping the branches back into place.

"Oh, please," she said aloud. "Is that the best – "

Castiel was in front of her, seized her with one arm and slammed the other hand to her forehead.

She gasped as her eyes sparked. She tried to break his grip and couldn't. Reddish light was shooting from her head, making her horrific true face visible through Katie's as though by lightning flashes. This much contact for this long should have destroyed her ten seconds ago.

Then she collapsed. He wasn't prepared for the sudden weight on his arm, but managed to keep hold of her as they both fell. In the fall she got her hands free, used them to force his hand away from her head. He lifted his other hand, but with both arms in the air he could be flipped over, and she did, rolling and vanishing the instant she was free of his grip.

Castiel sat up on the sidewalk with a disgusted look.

"Mm, that was fun," Katie's voice giggled, her voice rich with sensual promise. "That's as close as anyone's come in a long time."

Castiel looked up. Lilith was perched with superhuman ease on one of the tree's branches.

"You don't think I can get up there?" he asked.

"I do. I also think I can go to the very top of this tree and jump. I think poor Katie might land on her head on the sidewalk."

"There's no need for that." Castiel stood, brushing the palms of his hands against each other. "Your plot here is done, Lilith. The seal is safe, and I've sent for reinforcements."

"You have? I wonder where they are?"

Castiel wondered that too. He was not eager to get into it with Lilith one-on-one again. She was a demon as old as humanity and had gained strength every year of her life; he was lucky even to have laid hands on her.

"We've almost finished the counter for your spear," he told her. "No more angels will be dying of despair."

She flipped a hand. "Yeah, I figured that one wouldn't last forever. Sure was fun, though. Watching your brothers kill themselves."

"We'll have a counter to the knife soon, too. Your soldiers will be weaponless."

A slight hesitation; then, "Go for it."

"I know why you came to the meeting tonight. At first I couldn't understand it. You were well hidden, you could have simply skipped the meeting and I wouldn't have known where you were. But you were hoping that I would make a scene or attack you. You know that Lorraine's very fragile, and if you could have caused me to do something like attacking her best friend, screaming that she's possessed by a demon, it would have pushed Lorraine further in – whatever direction you want her to go."

"Aren't you the clever one?" Lilith sat up a little straighter and her tone went from mocking to businesslike. "Actually, you are, aren't you? You're Castiel."

Personal attention from a demon. Never a good thing. But the longer she talked, the better chance this his help would arrive. "Ah – yes, I'm Castiel. But I'm not especially clever."

"You're not? Let's see. One of the leaders of your battalion or outpost or whatever you call it. You figured out where a seal was all by your little self and came here to protect it. That performance tonight, just by itself, that was amazing. You sat in a church six feet from me and talked about sacrifice, kept shoring up Lorraine's shaky little base in reality, even got in a shot at the minister about sinners eventually paying for their sins. All the time looking like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Would it? By the way?"

"I've never tried."

"It seems like there was one more thing – Oh. Yes. Pulled Dean Winchester out of Hell right under Alastair's nose." She gave a sensual chuckle, Katie's eyes going opaque white for a moment. "You can't imagine the things he's done to human souls since then, pretending they were you."

It was like she was trying to stall him while he stalled her. He stretched out his senses – Lorraine was asleep at her apartment, Mahon watching TV at his home, all quiet at the church –

"That was entirely a group effort. If it hadn't been for my brethren finding the right place and constructing a passageway – "

"Right, right. Blah, blah. Do you think I don't know? Don't let this girlish face fool you, I've been around for awhile and I know exceptional when I see it. Most of your sibs would've taken one step into Alastair's workroom and run screaming. They'd still be playing ring-around-the-rosy down there, and Dean would be about two years from going to Earth and eviscerating his friends, if they hadn't had you to send down."

He understood suddenly. She wasn't trying to stall him. She was trying to turn him. "I'm afraid I can't acknowledge the truth of your flattery. Or return it."

"So tell me, Castiel, what does someone exceptional like you deserve, where Heaven's concerned? What rewards do you get?"

"Our rewards are in currency you couldn't possibly understand."

"Probably not. I'm a simple girl, I like simple pleasures. The wind in my hair, absolute power, being able to take a meatsuit out for a really good run – "

"The last – " He swallowed, controlled his voice. "The last vessel you took was a nine-year-old girl who's now in an insane asylum."

"Yes." Then, seductively, "Well. I can enjoy adult pleasures, too."

He went from indignation to near-laughter in an instant, dangerously uncontrolled. "Do you forget that I can see how vile you really are?"

She braced one claw on the tree trunk, leaned forward a little, and their gazes locked. "Do you know how compelling vileness can be? Mothers call mud vile while their toddlers roll around in it. Politicians call sex vile right before they rut with whores. Bureaucrats call fascist power vile right before they submit to it completely. Everything in creation reaches toward the base, because when there's nothing you won't do, there's nothing you can't do."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

Then Castiel said, "Get out of that poor girl and go back to Hell where you belong."

Katie made a disgusted little moue, which on Lilith's real face defied description. "May as well. I've already wound up the little toys and put them on the floor. They're going to smash into the nearest wall whether I'm there or not. You think about what I said, Castiel. Do you know what Hell's rewards are for its winners? Anything. Anything we want. You think about that when they're torturing you in some Heavenly re-education camp because your abilities scare them. You know you're not suited to bending over for winged egomaniacs. You know you're much better suited to cracking the whip in Hell." She shrugged. "Metaphorically or literally."

Katie's head slammed back, her jaw gaped, and she screamed as a funnel of black smoke erupted from her mouth.

She collapsed, unconscious. Castiel had her before she could fall off the branch, and brought her gently to the ground.

She woke up on the sidewalk at night with a strange man hovering over her. She gasped, choked, struck out with one hand. "It's all right," Castiel said, letting a calming energy flow from him. "I'm not going to hurt you. You fainted."

She coughed, tried to sit up. "Where is this? What happened?"

"You're by Kensington Park. Are you all right?"

"My throat hurts."

A sustained scream and microscopic traces of sulfur will do that to you. He used his thumb and two fingers to touch either side of her throat gently. "Better?"

"Yeah. Much." She tried to sit up again and made it this time. "God, what's going on? I'm not even drunk."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Leaving work. But it's dark. That must have been hours ago."

Probably days, maybe even weeks. Lilith had wiped Katie's memory, and Katie wouldn't be able to tell him anything about Lilith's plans to break the seal. But it was just as well. If she hadn't been able to give the girl amnesia, Lilith would have simply killed her.

Castiel helped Katie up and walked her the rest of the way home. He'd let her parents break it to her that she'd been walking around for days and apparently had no memory of it. He went back to Athens Declaration Church, just to keep an eye on things.

Zachariah had told him that if he had incontrovertible proof that the church was the site of a seal, he could send for assistance. You don't get more incontrovertible than Lilith sauntering around in a church, and he had sent for assistance, and it still wasn't here.

It bothered him. It bothered him that both Amenerat and Lilith had called him special, exceptional. The temptation to pride was enormous, and pride was the father of all other sins.

Why had Lilith thought she could induce pride in him, buy him with promises of degrading power? His emotionalism, of course. He must have looked like a kaleidoscope to Lilith: twist him and see a whole new pattern of light and color each time.

As it turned out, there were good reasons why Castiel's reinforcements had never arrived. Another seal had been broken. Two more angels were found dead on two different continents, far from any battles, both killed by a knife to the base of the throat. And in a small town in North America, a powerful and well-hidden witch was preparing to raise the demon god Samhain.

.

"Destroying the entire town," Castiel said carefully, "seems an overreaction."

"An overreaction?" Uriel looked like Castiel had proposed debating whether two and two equaled four. "We know the witch is in the town, but we cannot find her. Or him. We have six hours before Samhain rises. When he rises, he will raise untold monsters and demons from Hell. Before we can kill all of them, they will have killed thousands. And we will be one seal closer to Lucifer destroying millions. And you think the destruction of one small town is an overreaction?"

Castiel faced Zachariah. "Humans aren't as likely to write this off as God's wrath or unexplained tribulation now, you know. They will require an explanation, and the search for that explanation may cause – "

"Oh, they'll have an explanation," Zachariah said casually. "Gas lines. A meteor. A meteor into gas lines. We won't give them a reason to think that Heaven is capriciously violent."

"The Winchesters are already there. It's very possible that they may be able to find this witch and stop her."

"In six hours?" Uriel scoffed. "Castiel, your fondness for humans may be useful, but it blinds you sometimes."

Castiel resisted the temptation to pull rank – especially since Zachariah could pull rank on both of them. "It simply seems more efficient to ask the Winchesters how close they are to destroying the witch before we destroy the entire town. And we'd have to see them anyway, to be sure they leave town in time."

"To be sure Dean leaves town in time," Uriel said. "The other is just baggage, isn't he?"

But Zachariah was looking at Castiel. "Wait. I like that idea," he said. "Ask the Winchesters what we should do."

Uriel exploded, "God's warriors should ask mud monkeys – "

"OK, OK, no need to get hysterical," Zachariah said. "Just – just present it to them. We're going to destroy the town to kill a witch who's raising Samhain – you two get out now. And then do what they say. Specifically, what Dean says." Zachariah nodded and smiled. "Yes, the more that I think about this, the better I like it. If they refuse to let you destroy the town, and they stop the summoning, all's well that ends well. If they refuse to let you destroy the town, they fail, and thousands of people die – maybe that'll teach Dean who knows best about these things in the future. And if they don't refuse and simply ask for enough time to get out of town before it's destroyed, that'll tell us how compliant Dean will be when we're ready for him to play his part."

"What does that part consist of?" Castiel asked.

Zachariah turned a gaze on him as hard as blue diamonds.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Castiel said.

Zachariah let a moment pass before he smiled again. "The hard part for you two is going to be letting Dean learn a lesson, which means no swooping in at the last moment to save the day. If the Winchesters let the seal get broken, and we're one step closer to Hell on Earth, maybe that will teach them to listen to their betters next time."

"But – " from Castiel and Uriel both.

"You have your orders. Which are, follow Dean Winchester's orders and let him live with the consequences. And I mean that, Uriel," he said, shaking a finger gently as at a naughty child. "None of your 'What Zach doesn't know won't hurt him.' If a thousand people suddenly vacate the Earth all at once, I'll know. Dump it on Winchester's shoulders. See what he does with it."

What he did with it, little to Castiel's surprise, was get angry. He was rather accustomed to Dean's being angry with him by now. What took Castiel by surprise was Sam.

It was the first time he'd met in person the boy with demon blood, the demon whore's consort, and Castiel had been unprepared for the open pleasure Sam showed on meeting a real angel, or for the horrified disillusionment that flooded Sam when Castiel told the Winchesters why he and Uriel were here.

"Look, even if you can't understand it, have faith," Castiel told them. "The plan is just."

Sam's voice was shocked into quiet. "How can you even say that?"

"Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just."

With a sudden shock he realized: I don't even believe that myself.

He scrambled to hide that self-hating shiver from Uriel, while continuing to present Heaven's case to Dean, while continuing a small rebellious prayer he'd been holding in his head since the meeting with Zachariah: _Please, God, let it not be necessary. Please, God, let Winchester decide to take the risk._

Prayers to God didn't have to be hidden from other angels. They were always safely private.

In fact, as it turned out, Winchester didn't even consider it a decision.

"If you're gonna smite this whole town," he said, moving to within a foot of Uriel, "then you're gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving."

Startled, Castiel checked Sam's energy. It was angry, resolute, and humming in perfect resonance with Dean's. Dean hadn't even had to glance at Sam to see how his brother felt about this sacrifice. Both of them had the same values and knew each other in a way that reminded Castiel of the connection he had with other angels.

"You went to the trouble of bustin' me out of Hell," Dean continued, "I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs. So you want to waste me? Go ahead. See how He digs that."

Castiel's energy leaped, a wide bright generous flare that he suppressed fast for later examination. Fortunately, Uriel was so irate at not being able to pinch the offensive mud monkey into a lifeless mass that he wasn't noticing Castiel.

"Castiel, I will not let these – "

"Enough!" he said sharply to Uriel, and to the Winchesters, "I suggest you work quickly," before the two angels absented themselves.

They stayed in town, but stayed away from the Winchesters, suppressed the energy that would let them follow what was happening, bickered with each other, and prayed.

Castiel had a lot to pray about, evils and weaknesses he didn't dare let Uriel see. That stab of doubt he'd felt when he'd told Sam that if the plan came from Heaven, that automatically made the plan just. He tried saying it to himself with conviction, over and over, but the conviction simply wasn't there. He couldn't make himself believe it, which was horrific. Every other angel he knew would have accepted that without question. Except Anaciel, of course.

That was twice that he'd compared himself to Anaciel, which showed what a damned road he was traveling. He somehow had to accept what his angelic family told him, because he certainly wasn't going to sever himself from them. It would be traitorous, and justice would require that they kill him. If he were severed from his angelic family, he wasn't sure he'd want to exist anyway.

Even if he wanted to, how? Gabriel had somehow disappeared without punishment, but Gabriel had an archangel's powers. Anaciel had apparently disappeared by falling to Earth as the surge of life force in a human woman's womb, and if they ever found which 20-year-old human was actually an angel wrapped in a mortal body, she'd be killed.

He simply wanted to understand and be at peace with Heaven's decisions. He had no desire to be an isolated fugitive, a traitor, a powerless human infant.

Particularly because, if he became the latter, he would never see Dean Winchester again.

He had figured it out, that flare of feeling when Dean had stood in front of a creature a thousand times more powerful than he in utter defiance. It was admiration.

He admired Dean Winchester. Or, as Uriel would have put it, an angel admired a mud monkey.

He knew that was wrong, but he didn't know why. Even when he tried to bar all emotion and simply understand it intellectually, he couldn't understand why it was wrong for him to admire a human being.

True, he had seen Dean when the man was less than subhuman, a blood-splattered mutilated sadist that even now it turned his vessel's stomach to think about. But didn't that make it all the more admirable that he had risen above that murderous rage when he got his life back?

But he knew what they would all say, Uriel and Zachariah and Raphael himself: An angel can't admire a human because humans aren't admirable because an angel can't admire them. If a plan comes from Heaven it's just because it comes from Heaven, therefore it's just.

He desperately needed someone to talk to. Oh, he could talk to God, but he needed a reaction, another point of view. There were mentors and advisors in Heaven, and some of the younger angels even had friends. But he certainly couldn't trust any angel with the knowledge of his doubt. Actually, he knew of only one being in Heaven or Earth he would trust –

There was an upsurge in demonic influence so strong and malevolent that it blasted even into his and Uriel's suppressed energy fields, and they both knew instantly that Samhain had risen. Another seal on Lucifer's cage had been broken.

Uriel gave Castiel the I-told-you-so look of all time, and Castiel bowed his head.

"Well?" Uriel's tone was far from respectful. "How many monsters do we let rise, how many people do we let them kill, before we start smiting the creatures and Samhain?"

Castiel swallowed.

"Six hundred. Six hundred human deaths before we take a hand."

Uriel shrugged agreement.

That will surely be enough to teach Dean his lesson, Castiel thought, and at the same time, half of the town will have survived, so he'll know his decision saved six hundred.

There had been one death immediately after Samhain's rise, and Castiel began his count. The two angels let their energy stretch out so they could follow what was happening. Samhain was on the move, in a human vessel, on foot, slowly. He probably wasn't accustomed to being in a physical form yet, but that would come fast. At least there were no more deaths yet, but there would be, and the waiting was horrible.

He was at a cemetery. His mere presence was raising zombies, tiny bubbles of demonic energy floating along on Samhain's tidal wave. There were living people there.

"Why are there living people in a mausoleum at midnight?" Uriel demanded.

"Hallowe'en," Castiel said. "Probably young people on a dare."

He buried his face in his hands. Two deaths.

Suddenly the energy of the zombies began disappearing. Someone was fighting them, and Castiel would have recognized that energy on the other side of the planet. Dean was destroying zombies and saving lives, and Castiel would have smiled, except that Samhain was moving someplace hallowed, probably a chapel on the cemetery grounds to complete a blasphemous rite, and now the real horror would begin –

And then there was another violent upsurge of energy, a wild blend of demonic power and human determination, and the tidal wave was halted, hanging, straining to overcome the human-demon blend, and while Castiel had felt that blended power before he was sure Uriel never had.

"To Hell with this waiting," Uriel said crisply, and vanished.

Castiel followed him to the chapel. He was glad Uriel had decided to arrive invisible, as he did himself, but the unprecedented look of petrified astonishment on Uriel's face probably meant that even if he'd been visible, he couldn't have moved.

Sam Winchester stood with one arm extended, shaking as though he were bracing a wall against a hurricane. His eyes were narrowed until almost only his pupils were visible, he was sweating and his nose was bleeding. But he was holding a demon god at bay with superhuman power.

Samhain strained to get at the human. He was trying to lift his arms, shoot energy from his eyes, even take a step, but he could do none of it. What he could do was cough up black smoke. With furious resistance, but surely, the demon was leaving its vessel.

The dam burst, black smoke gushed from the vessel's mouth, and Dean made it to the chapel door just as Sam returned Samhain to Hell with one extended, shaking arm.

Samhain's vessel fell dead. Dean stared at Sam with a look comically like Uriel's.

Then Sam saw his brother. "Do you need – " he began, gagged and collapsed.

The two angels watched as Dean helped Sam out of the chapel.

"Did you see that boy's soul?" Uriel asked.

Castiel had. It had already been spotted with small red droplets, but as they had watched the struggle with Samhain a new stain had bled onto Sam's soul, larger than the others, pride and lust for power that the boy himself probably only felt subconsciously.

"No human being can handle demonic power. I don't care where it's coming from or how good he thinks his intentions are. I'm going to – "

"How do you know," Castiel interrupted, "that Zachariah isn't planning to make use of the boy's ability?"

He didn't know, of course. After a moment, Uriel shook his head. "Very well. I'll take no action. But I'm going to talk to that Earthworm. If Zachariah wants to use him, he can come over and tell Sam himself."

"Not tonight, though," Castiel said. "He's physically exhausted, and you may as well lecture a felled tree. Tomorrow morning you can put the fear of God into him."

Although actually, Castiel thought wryly, Uriel would probably be putting the fear of Uriel into him.

Uriel got his chance the next day, when Dean took a walk to a park and sat watching children play while Sam finished cleaning up and packing.

Castiel appeared on the bench next to Dean's. He expected more anger when Castiel told him that their threat to level the town – genuine as it had been – had basically been a test. But Dean that morning was calm, relaxed, and as close to philosophical as he got. His joy in protecting life was so profound, so deeply rooted in the four-year-old who'd carried his infant brother out of a burning building, that it could have almost lit the park with additional sunshine – if it hadn't been for the shadow what would now always be on his soul. Castiel had been in Dean's dreams, had seen him when he woke, and he knew Dean remembered what he had become in Hell.

Castiel spoke a little of his fondness for humans, how they seemed to him like God's works of art, although it might in the future be necessary to destroy some of them in order to save all of the rest from the Apocalypse. He hated to throw that additional shadow onto Dean, but it was important that he understand. There was a twitch at the corner of Dean's eyes, and Castiel heard himself saying, "Can I tell you something, if you promise not to tell another soul?"

"OK."

"I'm not a – hammer, as you say. I have questions, I have – I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here."

He was ashamed of himself suddenly. An angel of the Lord was going to burden a human with his spiritual struggles? He'd seen human parents who leaned on their children for emotional support, and this was a hundred times more embarrassing – especially given that this human had some kind of role to play, whatever it was, in preventing the Apocalypse.

"But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make," he said, changing the subject back to Dean himself. "I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

He went back to Zachariah to report, but Uriel had already made the report. Again, Zachariah seemed strangely calm about the breaking of another seal, but agreed readily when Castiel said he wanted to go back to La Lluvia to check on the situation there.

.

Lilith's influence couldn't be felt anywhere, but that didn't mean some plot of hers wasn't still unwinding. There was a reason why she'd chosen to take over the confidante of an emotionally unstable woman, and short of making every knife in town disappear, keeping a close watch on Lorraine seemed to Castiel the best way to guard the seal.

He found her sitting on a bench in the same park where Lilith had left Katie just a few days before. She was hunched intently over the same large Bible, highlighting passages again.

"It's Lorraine, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

She started, looked up. Then she pushed her hair back from her eyes and smiled quickly. "Yeah, hi. I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

"It's Cass. You have a good view of the park from here."

She moved over and gathered up some of her papers to make room for him. "Katie told me you helped her last week, when she fainted. She was sorry she was so out of it that night. She said she must've acted like a zombie."

The faintest hint of a smile touched his face. "Not in the least. How is she doing?"

"OK, considering. You know she lost her memory?"

"She doesn't know who she is?"

"Oh, no, she knows that. But when you walked her home that night she was thinking it was October 4th."

"That must have been a shock."

"No kidding. Her parents have been having a bunch of tests done, but no one can figure it out yet. Anyway, they know it's not brain cancer."

"Well, that's a blessing."

"It is. I've been praying for her." She looked down at the open Bible. "So weird. She gave me back a jacket today that she found in her closet, and she didn't remember she borrowed it from me two weeks ago. She didn't even remember a really intense conversation we had last week."

A really intense conversation with Lilith. Castiel scanned Lorraine's spirit quickly. There was a memory of her saying "The church needs him. And he needs me," with a mixture of joy, tension and defiance. And there was a very vivid picture of Katie leaning forward, her eyes sympathetic, saying, "I just don't want you to get hurt." Lilith was very good; there wasn't even a flicker, not so much as a gleam in the eye, indicating that that was exactly what she wanted.

Castiel realized that a grown man and virtual stranger wouldn't ask a 20-year-old girl about an intense conversation with her best friend. But if he kept her talking, she might tell him more. He glanced down at her open Bible.

"It appears you're studying hard for the next class," he said.

She looked down also, her fingers moving a bit as if she'd cover both large pages with one little hand. About half of the verses were highlighted, some in yellow, some in blue. Some other passages were also heavily underlined. "Ask S" she'd written in one margin, and on top of one page, the word "No!" underlined twice.

"I'm trying to understand," she said. "People don't take their Bibles seriously enough."

"That may be true."

She looked up at him directly. "It is true! They don't even care! And if you do care, they act like you're crazy."

"Does studying the Bible give you joy?" he asked quietly.

Her gaze went back down again. "It used to. It used to – "

She smiled at him. "It used to speak to me. I'd pick it up and I could understand it so easily, like angels were singing it to me."

He could feel her memory of it: elation and enlightenment, a sense of having been specially selected.

"But now – the last couple of years – I try to understand and it's all closed. It's like one of those seashells curling in and in on itself. I don't know what I did wrong."

"I doubt if you did anything wrong. The Bible reveals more, becomes more complex, as you read it. What seems simple and straightforward to a child may actually be very complex to an adult."

"But it's the truth!" There was even more agitation in her soul than her pinched face showed. "How are you – how are you supposed to know what the truth is, what to do, if you can't understand it?"

"There are two things we know without question. We are to love God. And we are to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. It seems to me that it is as much as a person can do just to follow both of those commands."

She was looking back at her Bible, running a fingertip over one of the highlighted passages. "Maybe."

"Of course, for some people, the difficulty is in loving themselves as much as they love others."

"That's bull. People say that all the time. 'If you just learn to love yourself, everything else is easy.' That's just vainglory. Vainglorious people don't love other people, and they don't lead righteous lives."

"True. The difficulty is with the word 'love.' It can mean so many things. But if you think of love in its best possible sense – understanding without judgment, compassion without weakness, caring without fear – that seems more than vainglory."

"Maybe."

"Katie seems a little different from you. Not so – devoted to the Bible. The night that I found her, she told me she was surprised that she wasn't drunk."

Lorraine smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like her. She likes to pretend that she's a complete wild child."

"She's wilder than you, though."

"Well, yes. But don't judge her. She's very sweet, and she cares about people. I worry when she goes out with her drinking buddies, but you know she'd never hurt anyone but herself. When I talk about God, or the Bible, she's about the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm insane. She's helped me a lot over the last year."

"She feels a little like an outsider too."

"Yeah." She smiled a little. "She calls us 'the geeks of Athens.' You know, because of the church name."

"So if you were to love yourself as you love Katie, with the same depth of understanding, would that be vainglorious?"

He'd thought it was obvious where he was leading her, but it caught her by surprise. "I never – Easy to say, though."

"I know that consideration of a possibility is frequently easier than its accomplishment."

She giggled, and her energy warmed. "Do you mind – This is a personal question, but do you mind if I ask where you come from?"

"It's far away. You may not have heard of it."

She waited for a little more information, then shifted her gaze. "I'm sorry if that was too personal. I just like the way you talk. Do you get homesick?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"I'm glad you found the church. We – they – we try to be welcoming to strangers." Her energy was warmer still, and her heart was beating faster.

He'd have felt worse if he hadn't known that his brothers and sisters were making the same mistake all over the planet at that moment. When you haven't mingled personally with humans in hundreds or thousands of years, it's easy to forget that an angel's certainty and knowledge can be very attractive to humans. But it couldn't have been further from the goal he was trying to reach. He wanted Lorraine to start finding joy within herself, not in another man.

Jimmy, his vessel, got him out of it. Had this been something he'd used once, as a married man, to shut down a girlish crush? Castiel didn't know. He just knew that his stomach flexed, and suddenly he emitted a long, loud belch.

Lorraine flinched, looked away with a cross between displeasure and amusement. She was still smiling, but the idolatry was gone from her energy in a moment.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I had a Mexican for lunch."

She looked confused, then amused, but his attention was suddenly gone, focused on a message only he could hear:

_Anaciel is found. Report._

"I must take something for stomach distress," he told Lorraine, standing. "Consider whether wanting the best for oneself is necessarily vainglorious."

He walked quickly toward the parking lot by the park, stepped behind a delivery van, and was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode "Heaven and Hell."_

.

It wasn't being sent to collect Anaciel – now a human woman called Anna – and deliver her to a death sentence that distressed Castiel most. He remembered well when "Anna" had been his mentor, encouraging his interest in humanity, the two of them helping each other guard against emotionalism, and he did wish that those days could return, but Anna had known what the consequences of her actions would be. As far as Michael and Raphael were concerned, an angel who fell was an angel who had rejected – no, spit upon – God's Plan, and had to be destroyed before he influenced others to do the same. Anna had known this, and had chosen to spurn God's plan just to indulge her weak desire for emotion and sensuality.

And her destruction wouldn't be cruel. Angels sentenced to the Chamber suffered far worse, as far as Castiel could tell, although they lived. A simple withdrawal of the life force would put an end to the danger of her infecting others with her rebelliousness.

No, it wasn't Anna's fate that disturbed him so profoundly. It wasn't even the direct, accusing look Dean gave him. Having stumbled upon her, the Winchesters had worked very hard to protect her – a brittle doe-eyed human woman with angelic knowledge but without the angelic powers of her grace to protect her. He could understand why Dean was upset, but Dean wasn't qualified to cast judgment on angels, and he certainly didn't see what Castiel saw when he looked at Anna – twisted righteousness, shameful selfishness, and enormous power even without her grace.

(When they had first tried to seize her the day before, she had painted an angel-banishing sigil on a mirror in her own blood and pressed her hand to it, throwing Uriel and himself through another dimension to a place hundreds of miles away and an hour later. It was a miserably uncomfortable experience.)

No. This was what caused Castiel to turn his gaze to the floor and wonder if he'd ever raise it:

"How? How'd you find us?" Sam demanded. Castiel looked at Dean, Dean couldn't look at anyone, and Anna said, "Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me or kill you. I know how their minds work."

It was odd, Castiel thought, that Dean's anger was directed only at him, as though Dean knew that the plan had been Castiel's. Castiel thought he understood the Winchesters well enough that neither would be willing to sacrifice the other's life if he weren't taking the same risk himself. Of course, Uriel had been the one to offer the choice to Dean in a dream, and had probably enjoyed forcing Dean to give up Anna's location. But it seemed like Dean had expected something better from Castiel.

Sam was staring at Dean with a weird mix of anger, fear and – triumph? Anna gave Dean a gentle kiss.

"You did the best you could," she told Dean softly. "I forgive you."

That was when Castiel looked down, flinching. For a moment he thought that lance of despair from Hell had struck him, and then he realized – No, this was internal.

It was shame. He was here to help put to death an angel of the Lord and he'd done it by forcing her protector to betray her. And she had forgiven her betrayer.

How could someone so fallen show such height of virtue? How could someone so intent on fulfilling her own desires show such strength?

Anna stepped forward, surrendering herself, but all Castiel could hear was Amenerat, dying of despair: "Do you remember? When God was with us? He enjoyed our differences. I think He felt they gave strength to His creation. Now we've lost our strength."

He shook off the memory just as demons appeared in the room – demons also after Anna for her knowledge. They must have tortured the location out of Sam's demon consort, Ruby – they threw her to the floor, bleeding, as Castiel recognized Alastair.

In the melee that followed, while Uriel was destroying his second demon, Anna snatched the pendant that Uriel wore around his neck and smashed it on the floor. All Castiel could do – all anyone could do at that point – was watch as the blue-white light of Anna's grace leaped to her and she inhaled it, all of her angelic power. She barely managed to scream a warning to the humans to cover their eyes before her human body dissolved in blinding brilliance so intense that not only Anna but Alastair vanished in it.

Uriel was furious. Castiel had to hold him back from attacking Dean, whose smart mouth would surely be the death of him one day.

"How did Anna know where her grace was being held?" Castiel asked Uriel later.

"I told Winchester, when I confronted him in the dream last night. He was trying to convince me that Anna had her grace back. I was calling his bluff, letting him know that he was beaten."

"You should have foreseen that Dean would tell Anna where her grace was," Castiel said quietly.

"It shouldn't have mattered! Anna was just a human. She would never have been able to get it from me if I hadn't been fighting those abominations."

Castiel left it there, in part because he didn't want Uriel pursuing the thought of how fortunate it was for Anna that demons had attacked just then. Because he'd known one thing since the moment the creatures had appeared – the Winchesters hadn't been surprised. Nervy, filled with adrenaline and combative, but not surprised. And now Castiel understood that sneaking thread of triumph Sam had felt when Dean's "betrayal" had been revealed. The whole thing had been Sam's plan. As part of it, Dean had deliberately caved in to Uriel, giving him Anna's location – but only after tricking Uriel into revealing the location of Anna's grace.

The amazing thing was that Ruby must have allowed herself to be captured and tortured before she'd "reluctantly" given Alastair the location, at just about the time she knew Dean had arranged for angels to arrest Anna. Castiel knew that Sam trusted the demon, and he himself didn't, but she was playing a very deep game if she was willing to put herself through that to help Sam help an angel. He would have to keep a close eye on her.

And he was never, never going to underestimate Sam Winchester again.

.

Mere hours after Anna's escape, Castiel felt a cry of pain and shame radiating from Dean. He doubted if Dean wanted to see him just then, but felt responsible for his charge, so he flew to Dean's side quickly but invisibly.

It was actually good, in a way: Dean was dragging his horror into daylight, telling Sam about Alastair, about Hell, about what he had done. He told Sam how Alastair had tortured him hideously every day for thirty years, every day offering to stop if Dean would himself become a torturer, Alastair's apprentice. How finally, stripped of almost all human attributes but pain and rage, he had agreed to do to other souls what had been done to him, and had done it for ten years.

Sam listened quietly, internalizing his own rage at what had been done to Dean, trying to reassure Dean, who didn't want reassurance. Castiel wished he could somehow let Dean feel the depth of Sam's understanding as Castiel perceived it. But this was a human process the two were going through, guilt and remorse and shared rage and sorrow, forgiveness and self-forgiveness, and perhaps humans should be left to work it through.

He waited long enough to be sure that tears were going to be the worst expression of Dean's self-loathing, then fled to Zachariah. Dean's confession had given them a crucial piece of information. They had never known when the Righteous Man had first spilled blood; now they had at least an estimate. If Dean had begun torturing near the beginning of the fourth month of his ordeal, that meant that the Apocalypse clock had begun ticking sometime in mid-August. Six lunar months would mean sometime in early to mid-February. If they could make it to March without 66 seals breaking, Lilith would have lost her chance, and Lucifer would remain caged.

It was now mid-November, and 30 seals had been broken.

.

Without even touching him, Alastair was forcing Sam down onto a bed of metal spikes as Dean stood, bound and screaming.

Without showing himself, Castiel whispered to Dean to change the spikes to blades of grass.

Suddenly Sam was lying back on the grass on a warm spring day, looking at cloud shapes in a blue sky. In Alastair's place was – Castiel had to approve – a big stinking pile of dog feces, from which Dean urged Sam to get away. Then the two of them went on an Easter egg hunt around Pastor Jim's church.

Castiel stood in the darkened motel room, listening to Dean's breath slow and grow deeper, sensing the relaxation of his muscles. Eventually he left, with an almost soundless flutter of wings.

.

Another angel from Castiel's garrison was destroyed, in Namibia, knife wound to the base of the throat. Someone somewhere had to know what this weapon was and who was wielding it, but Castiel couldn't find anyone who seemed to be making inquiries. He began an investigation himself, but was pulled from it by an emotional cry from La Lluvia.

It was Lorraine. There was a program about world starvation playing on the small television set in her living room, and she was on her knees, in tears, praying to God to help humanity.

He watched her, silently and invisibly, until her emotional spate left her exhausted and she curled up on her couch to fall asleep. Then he slipped into her dreams to replace (however temporarily) her despair with calm and determination. Then he went outdoors and began to take a walk.

He couldn't tether his energy to Lorraine's and hope to have an accurate idea of when the seal might be threatened. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Once he'd arrived because Lorraine was hysterically angry; when he got there he discovered that Mahon had told her he'd rather make love to her than visit a sick parishioner, but the moment Mahon agreed to make the visit, Lorraine had been calm again, almost beatific, as if she understood the whole purpose of her life. Another time, Castiel never had known what Lorraine's torment had been; by the time he got there, within minutes, she was as placid as if her upset had been weeks previous.

Lorraine's instability made it very likely that the violence required to break the seal would somehow involve her, but it also made it almost impossible to discern when the seal might genuinely be threatened. He needed a far more stable source of information to be his sentry.

The door to Martha's office was open, but he knocked on it gently anyway. She was on the phone, looked up with a slightly surprised expression, then beckoned him in with a smile.

He sat in one of the two chairs facing her desk. Two filing cabinets were behind her, a credenza stacked with papers along one wall, a set of shelves with books and software boxes near the door.

"Three o'clock," Martha said. "And I don't think it'll take more than a couple of hours to go over everything, so we should get out at a decent time. Yes. All right, I'll see you then."

She hung up the phone and smiled at Castiel. "It's good to see you again. But could you remind me of your name?"

"Cass. We spoke out front of the church a few weeks ago."

"Yes, I remember. You're in town for a few weeks on business and were looking for a church to attend."

"You are correct. La Lluvia is my base for travels, so I've been able only to attend one Bible study class and one Sunday service, but I find the people of this church most welcoming."

She was amused by his manner of speaking, but it showed only by a little extra twinkle in her eyes. "It's a very nice, very active congregation."

"I have a concern," he said. "I hope you will forgive my bringing this to you, but I know almost no one else in the church and you strike me as being both empathetic and competent."

"Oh. Thank you! What's your concern?"

"There is a young woman in the congregation named Lorraine. She was in the Bible study class I attended, and I accidentally met her in the park a couple of weeks ago and we talked. Do you know the woman of whom I speak?"

"I do. And you're concerned about her?" There was no surprise at all in Martha's energy.

"She appears to me to be deeply troubled."

"Lorraine is over-emotional, and she does worry a lot. I don't know if – Did she say something to give you such a concern?"

"Not in words. Her manner – "

He hesitated, and Martha looked at him quizzically.

"A – a co-worker of mine destroyed himself recently. I had been unaware of how spiritually vulnerable he was, and by the time I knew, it was too late. I am by no means an expert in human emotion or psychology, but something in Lorraine's manner reminds me of him. I wondered if she is receiving any assistance for her problems."

"I don't know. I think Lorraine feels that the problems are other people's. That other people don't care enough about the church, or about humanity."

"She feels that it is her duty to keep the church going."

Martha started to smile, and then she seemed to think over the statement. "She – she may. She might feel that it all rests on her shoulders. I hadn't really – "

She thought for a moment, and Castiel watched her.

"There's not really much I can do," she said. "I think if I talk to her about psychological help, even in a Christian context, she'll just resent it. But I can try to reach out to her a little more, ask some other people to keep tabs on her. Maybe we can get her to accept some help."

"I would appreciate it. I travel too much to be of help, and in any case, if I were to exhibit personal interest in Lorraine, I fear it would be misinterpreted."

Martha smiled. "Yes, that's possible."

Castiel stood and extended his hand. Martha did the same, and Castiel closed both of his hands about hers. She smiled at the unexpected warmth, and Castiel had successfully established a bond. "Thank you for not dismissing this," he said.

"Well. Thank you for your concern."

He turned to leave, and Martha said, "Your co-worker – that wasn't your fault, you know."

He sighed a little. "I'm aware that I am not culpable. But I wish I had understood certain things about him before the crisis that took his life."

They said their goodbyes, and Castiel started down the hallway. Yes, Martha would be very good at keeping a quiet protective eye on Lorraine, and if she felt something seriously wrong –

"Castiel!"

Castiel froze, listening to the voice only he could hear.

"Castiel! Please! Help!"

Uriel never called for help.

In a moment Castiel had arrived at a dense and deeply isolated part of the Amazon rainforest. Enormous trees had been uprooted, a couple of them lying in the river, most slammed to the ground with any growth underneath crushed. Dead and dying monkeys and a jaguar lay on patches of forest floor that hadn't seen full sunlight in years. The river had been the scene of part of the cataclysm: a caiman lay dead on the bank, and there were dead fish in some of the trees that remained standing.

Uriel was sitting with his back propped against a tree, his right hand on his left shoulder. What looked like two Amazonian tribesmen lay dead on the ground near him. Only when Castiel was close could he see the shadows of their wings, stretched out and overlapping, and the bleeding holes at the bases of their throats.

There was no help for them. Castiel went directly to Uriel. "Have you been stabbed?"

Uriel moved his hand from his shoulder, and Castiel knelt to peel back his dark jacket. Light of Uriel's grace flashed painfully out of a wound just below the collarbone, halfway between neck and shoulder.

"I thought I could heal it," Uriel said, more quietly than Castiel had ever heard him speak. "But it's taking so long."

Castiel brought Uriel's hand back up to the wound, pressed it there with both of his own, and let their combined energies flow to the injury. He could feel Uriel's energy reviving.

"What happened?"

"Matthias sent me a message, very quietly. They had information about the demon who's been killing angels and were laying a trap for him here. We thought that surely three of us could defeat one demon. By the time – "

Uriel flinched. Castiel moved their hands and replaced them. "The wound is healing. All will be well."

"Not until I destroy the hellspawn who did this. By the time I got here, Matthias was dead. Ezekiel and the creature were battling. I didn't realize what was happening, materialized right in front of the demon. Ezekiel revealed his hiding place to throw the demon off, so I just sustained this wound. I went down and the demon leaped over to Ezekiel and – " Uriel gestured at the two bodies. "I've seldom seen anything move that fast."

"What became of the demon?"

"I suppose he thought I was just the first of the reinforcements. He ran off through the forest. I don't know where the vessel is, but it hardly matters. The demon could be in Moscow by now."

Castiel nodded. "What was the color of the demon's eyes?"

"White." Uriel dropped his head. "I've failed you, Castiel. I've failed all of the soldiers of the garrison. I should have reported the trap to you and followed your instructions. Matthias and Ezekiel were in a hurry, and it just – it never occurred to me that there could possibly be a demon who could defeat three angels."

"Don't blame yourself, Uriel. This is obviously something unprecedented in our experience. We will need to do something unprecedented to combat it." Castiel lifted their hands again, looked at the wound and smiled as best he could. "That will heal itself now."

"If – " Uriel hesitated, sat up straighter and leaned toward Castiel, his voice low. "If I tell you something, will you vow never to repeat it to anyone?"

Just what I said to Dean, Castiel thought. When did we all become so secretive? "You've been an unfailingly trustworthy aide, Uriel. I will vow that."

"I know you don't want to hear anything against our superiors, Castiel. But Matthias and Ezekiel set up this trap with me communicating only through angelic channels. They insisted that nothing resembling any other form of communication should be used."

"Are you saying – "

"I'm saying there's no way that demon could have known about this trap. Unless an angel told him."

Castiel pulled back physically. "No."

"I don't want to think it either, but what else is there to think? When angels are being slaughtered and the Apocalypse is on the horizon, what are our leaders doing? Raphael rages impotently and Michael is a shadow of himself. And who else is there to find and punish traitors? The commander of Garrison Three? Did you hear his thought? Michael and Raphael should order everyone back home, give the Earth over to Lucifer, and hope he doesn't storm Heaven. And Lucifer would do it, as you well know. He's a strong leader. Who do we have who compares? Zachariah?" Uriel snorted. "I wouldn't put it past him to have been the one who – "

Castiel snapped a hand up. "Enough. I am willing to admit that something is very wrong. I will not listen to baseless accusations."

"Forgive me, Castiel. I should not have spoken my mind."

"No, you should have. We can discover nothing if we don't discuss what needs discovery. I don't know when we all became so fearful – so fearful of – "

He didn't know how to finish the sentence himself.

After a moment, Uriel said softly, "If God withdraws even more from the archangels than he has – "

"He hasn't withdrawn."

Uriel raised an eyebrow. "Well, for whatever reason, we face a fearful vacuum. That's what causes the fear. Who is there to avenge our murdered brethren? Who is there to inspire us to victory?"

"Inspiration," Castiel said with a small sigh.

"Without it," said Uriel, "we may as well be winged humans."

After a moment, Castiel stood. "I have to report to Zachariah. Stay here until you're fully healed, Uriel, then do what can be done for the forest and these vessels."

"If Zachariah knows what I've said, he'll put me – "

"I will not betray you, Uriel, have no fear."

"But you will think about what I said?"

"Yes. And we will talk again."

If Uriel thought that Zachariah was taking angels' murders too casually, Castiel thought ten minutes later, he should have heard Zachariah's reaction to the report. They were in the penthouse office of Zachariah's vessel, and he had been pacing and raging so long and so loudly that a secretary had popped in, presumably thinking that Castiel was killing her boss or vice versa.

"This is not going to happen on my watch," Zachariah said, quietly but no less intensely after he'd dismissed the secretary. "I am not going to have our superiors thinking that angels are being destroyed because I was too incompetent to find out who's doing it or how. Find out and stop it, Castiel. Drop everything else."

"The La Lluvia seal – "

"Everything else, Castiel. Including – " Zachariah hesitated, then nodded his head. "Yes, including Winchester duty. What's the point of having him to help Heaven if there's no one left to help? Use every resource at your disposal. Do anything you have to. Just find this demon and kill it."

"Dean Winchester dreams of Hell every night. He wakes up every few hours in a very disturbed state. I've been calming his dreams, not every night, but two or three times a week, because it is bad for human health to be sleep-deprived. I would like permission to continue doing that."

Zachariah looked down at him and smiled with a curl to his lip Castiel didn't understand. "I appreciate your wanting him to be fit and healthy just for our benefit. But no. I want you to devote yourself completely to this task. Once you've destroyed this demon, you can go back to wandering around in Dean Winchester's mind. Consider it your reward."

That was a strange speech, Castiel thought as he too was dismissed. Looking after one's charge was a duty, not a reward.

But, because an angel who admits that he feels emotion has to be brutally honest with himself about it, he did have to admit that being separated from this charge was somehow disappointing to him.

He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Well, Zachariah was right, that was all. Catching a demon who killed angels with impunity was the top priority, and he would use his return to Winchester duty as – what was the word? – as an incentive to work fast and successfully.

He began by gathering facts from everyone who had been near the destroyed angels. The fact that they were all from Castiel's garrison made this easier. He himself knew quite a bit about the angel under his command who'd been killed in the French forest; he was obedient, as all angels were, but Castiel had sometimes wondered if he felt he should hold a higher position in the ranks.

Of the two who'd been murdered while Castiel was dealing with Lilith, one was watching a human charge in Scotland and one was pursuing a flesh-eating demon in China. The commander of the angel who'd been killed in China said she'd seemed quiet lately, masking her energy.

The angel destroyed in Namibia had recently been demoted to traveling the globe cleaning up after battles: confusing or removing memories from human witnesses, setting up explanations for damage that couldn't be repaired. Matthias and Ezekiel had been guarding a seal in Brazil. Uriel told Castiel that Matthias had simply contacted him with a request to take part in the trap, but that Matthias and Ezekiel were both dead before Uriel had had a chance to question them about the identity of the demon or what its weapon was.

Given that one of the six angels had seemed discontented, one secretive, and one recently demoted, Castiel wondered if the demon had attempted to turn the murdered angels and, failing to do so, had killed them instead. It was a poor theory – surely Hell is better off if discontented angels remain in Heaven instead of being killed – but it was the only theory they had to work on.

He decided to set his own trap, first carefully explaining to Zachariah and certain other superiors what he was doing. He and Uriel would have public disagreements in areas where there was a strong demonic presence, hopefully sending out the message that Castiel was on the verge of rebellion. Uriel would then leave and Castiel would remain alone, waiting to be contacted by the demon.

He never got any takers, but it didn't surprise him much. For one thing, Uriel refused to leave completely – "I'm not going to see another brother destroyed because I showed up ten seconds too late!" – and a demon fast and powerful enough to kill an angel probably could sense Uriel's energy nearby. For another, Uriel was not the world's greatest actor. At the conclusion of each of their "fights" Uriel would declaim, "I must – I must inform our superiors of your – your discontented attitude, Castiel!" Then, instead of simply leaving, he insisted on vanishing with a thunderclap.

Dean Winchester would have played the scene much better than Uriel. But then Sam Winchester would have plotted the trap better than Castiel. He really wished he could contact them.

(He was sneaking into Dean's dreams about once a week. Dean was less than three months out of Hell and contending with the Apocalypse and great fear for his brother. His nightmares were like an agonized scream to Castiel, and once in a while he felt that he had to disobey orders and calm Dean's dreams. There was no point in rescuing the Righteous Man if he were then driven insane by memory, anxiety, and sleep deprivation. But Castiel never contacted Dean in his dreams, merely altered their course. The lake of fire, for instance, would become a lake of water, with Dean on the bank feeling as though he had personally made the change, feeling strong and at ease. Then Dean would take over the dream's direction, skipping stones or fishing or skinny dipping with a pretty girl until dreamless sleep set in.)

After Castiel had played turnable angel often enough that (a) it was clear the demon wasn't interested in him and (b) it felt like half of the Heavenly Host was fluttering around him urging him to stop being discontented, he gave up and tried another tack. Hell is even more rigidly hierarchical than Heaven – has to be, due to the nature of demons. The angel-killing demon was powerful, but he'd have a boss who knew about the weapon, and he'd have underlings champing at the bit to supplant him. Interrogation of either could be very helpful.

And, as it happened, he had a straight-line connection to one particular demon.


	5. Chapter 5

_ The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episodes "Death Takes a Holiday" and "On the Head of a Pin."_

.

Dean and Sam were in Sioux City, Iowa. Castiel arrived just as an older man sacrificed the life of his longtime best friend, a multiple murderer, to save two innocent strangers, Sam and Dean. To Castiel the choice was crystal clear, but he knew it was the kind of choice that made humans sad, even the humans whose lives had been saved, and that was likely to make them reach for a source of comfort, even a false source. The older man did best, calling his niece and her husband and asking if he could visit for a few days. Dean, not unexpectedly, headed to the hotel bar. And Sam called Ruby.

Castiel followed Sam to Ruby's car and thence to Ruby's hotel room. As he stood outside listening, they discussed possible next steps in tracking and killing Lilith. The demon had some frank opinions about Heaven's incompetence in preventing seals from being broken that made Castiel flinch; truth is truth, even spoken by an abomination. Then there were softer words, smiles exchanged, the demon pushing up the sleeve of her jacket and Sam kissing her hand and wrist.

Then Ruby produced a knife and cut the back of her own wrist. Sam smiled at the blood oozing from the wound, applied his mouth to it and sucked greedily. The demon smiled and stroked his hair, murmuring, "You're going to save us all."

It wasn't on the same scale, of course, but the nausea Castiel felt reminded him of Hell.

Not that he hadn't expected something like this. From the moment that the demon Azazel had fed drops of his own blood to 6-month-old Sam Winchester, he'd doomed the boy to an addiction as surely as if he'd grafted an alcoholism gene onto his DNA. If he'd had a normal life, Sam might never had been close enough to any demons to feed his addiction. But by killing Sam's mother, sending John Winchester with his children into the supernatural world seeking vengeance, Azazel had – perhaps accidentally – assured that the scene now playing out in this hotel room would take place.

This explained where Sam had obtained the power to vanquish Samhain. And if Uriel had known that at the time – Well. Just as well that he hadn't.

Sam looked up and down the hall before he closed the door fully behind him, but of course didn't see Castiel. The demon lying barefoot on the bed inside did. "Crap!"

She leaped for the window, and Castiel was there. She ran for the door. Castiel, suddenly in front of her, grabbed her and pushed her against the wall with his left forearm while he brought his right hand to within six inches of her head.

She froze, watching that hand the way a human watches the barrel of a gun pointed at her. Her gaze flickered only briefly to meet his, then back. "What do you want?"

"Information."

Some kind of wisecrack parted her lips before she repressed it. "About what?"

"The demon who's been killing angels."

"What?"

Her surprise wasn't feigned. She didn't have a clue.

It was surprising, but he had considered the possibility. "There's a demon who's been killing angels with a knife or a short sword, one stroke to the base of the throat. It's a white-eyed demon, very fast moving. Tell me everything you know that might have any bearing on this."

Her gaze was still on his right hand, but the movement beneath his left arm told him that she was breathing more calmly. "Fast moving, I don't know. Alastair's shop develops new weapons all the time. They're mostly used for torturing souls, but sometimes a demon will take one out for a spin on Earth."

"Who was – Wait. Alastair's shop? Isn't it someone else's shop now? Alastair was dissolved when Anna became an angel again."

"No. Just his vessel. The son of a bitch is still around. Believe me. I keep very close tabs on him whenever he comes topside. I'm still healing from our last dance."

He lowered his right hand, but kept her pinned to the wall, smiling into her eyes. "So my guess is that you would have no objection if something were to befall Alastair."

"Like an unfortunate smiting incident? Not at all. Be my guest."

"A demon as highly placed as Alastair can keep himself cloaked from angels even better than a streetwalker like you. I would need to know where he would be, and when."

She let out an angry breath, dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes before she opened them to glare at him. "So the choice you're giving me is – You kill me. Or I rat out Alastair and maybe spend the next couple centuries inside out on a meat hook."

"There would be no gain for me in telling anyone that you – 'ratted out' Alastair. There would be great gain for you if Alastair were gone."

"True." She shrugged. "And everyone knows I'm helping Sam Winchester, anyway. It's not like talking to an angel is gonna make matters worse for me. – How do I reach you?"

"When you are informed of Alastair's location, call me. I'll hear you."

"Sure. Great. Hope to Hell you know what you're doing."

He didn't answer but didn't move, and in a moment she raised her eyebrows. "Something else?"

"Take off your jacket."

Her eyelids narrowed a little and her lips curved in a one-sided smile. He took a step back. With an exaggerated roll of her shoulders and breasts, she shrugged off the jacket, dropping it to the floor. "Next?"

"Show me your arms."

The smile dropped off her face, and she extended her arms.

It wasn't as bad as he'd feared, but it wasn't good. Besides the fresh cut on the back of her wrist, there were about a dozen other slices on the insides of her arms, some healed to fine white scars, some still puckered and angry-looking as the edges grew together.

"Want to see some of the other places where he feeds?"

"No. How often?"

She shrugged again. "About once a week. A little more often when something powerful is coming down the road. A little less often when his tight-ass brother is going ballistic. Because, you know, God forbid that Sam actually stops the Apocalypse, or anything."

"Oh, really? Sam will stop the Apocalypse all by himself?"

"If Lilith dies, she stops breaking seals. If Sam keeps training, he'll be strong enough to kill Lilith."

"Training," he said, revolted. "Is that what you call it?"

"There's more to it than feeding. There's strategy and field work. Meanwhile, Dean is busy self-flagellating. And you guys are up in Heaven counting the number of broken seals on your fingers and toes. That second guy is going to have to take off his shoes now, by the way."

"And you are doing all of this – why? For the love of a good man?"

She gave a little whoop of laughter. "I'm doing this because Earth is a nice warm green comfortable area with plenty of hiding places. I'm doing this because if Lucifer turns Earth into Hell's lobby, there'll be no place to hide for anyone who helped the Winchesters, and I'll spend the rest of eternity getting raped by flaming knives."

"Which begs the question, why are you helping the Winchesters?"

She looked him right in the eyes. "I have a weakness for human beings. From what I understood, you do too."

Dean wouldn't have betrayed him – certainly not to a demon – so clearly Ruby did have other sources of information, which was useful if disconcerting.

"Well," Castiel said, "let your understanding encompass Alastair's location. As soon as we find him, that will be one less flaming knife to worry you."

He left via the door, deliberately turning his back to her.

.

If he'd been perfectly obedient, he'd have left Sioux City at that point, but even angels aren't perfect. So Castiel went back to the hotel bar where he'd last seen Dean.

Dean was still there, finishing a glass of brown liquid. He looked over when Castiel slid onto the bar stool next to him, made a face and looked straight ahead. "Great. Who do you want to kill this time?"

"I wish to kill no one. I simply wanted to check on the welfare of my charge."

"Yeah?" Dean gave him a half-grin as the bartender walked over. "Well, in that case, what'll you have?"

"I don't want to drink."

"Cas, you can't occupy a barstool and not have something." Dean looked at the bartender and pointed at Castiel. "A V-8 for my AA sponsor there. And another Jack for me."

"So how are you, Dean?" Castiel asked as the bartender got their drinks.

His energy was actually quite relaxed. "Could be better, could be worse." He flashed another grin. "It ain't Hell."

"True."

They sat listening to the music overhead until the bartender brought their drinks. Castiel sipped his as Dean watched.

"Interesting. Multiple layers of flavor."

Dean chuckled, picking up his fresh drink. "God may have invented vegetables, but it took humans to pulverize ΄em and put in the right spices. ΄Cause we may be murderous thieving bastards, but you have to admit we invent some cool stuff."

"Violins," Castiel said promptly.

Dean looked at him, a little surprised. "Really?"

"For hundreds of years, even when I haven't had a physical vessel, I've enjoyed being in concert halls where violins are playing. I find the sound very beautiful. And recall that I've heard the singing of angelic choirs."

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "You and Sam, I swear. The Gibson 1959 Les Paul. In the hands of a master, that sweetheart will take you places you didn't know you could go."

Castiel looked at him steadily.

"It's a guitar," Dean said.

"Ah," Castiel said, and they both took a drink.

"Clocks," Castiel said. "I find the intricacies of the mechanisms fascinating. The human devotion to measuring each eighty-six thousand four hundredth of each day."

"That's ΄cause we know we don't have that many days."

"Not on this plane, at any rate."

Dean raised his glass with the air of one presenting an irrefutable argument in debate. "The 1967 Chevrolet Impala."

That one Castiel knew, and, following Dean's lead, he raised his glass as well. "A worthy steed."

"A worthy steed," Dean repeated, and clinked his glass against Castiel's. They both took a drink.

"You ought to take a ride in her sometime. It'd ruin you for flying, though."

"I would enjoy that very much."

Dean looked kind of touched. "Yeah?"

"Unfortunately, tonight I must return to my other responsibilities." Castiel got off the stool. "A rain check?"

"Sure."

Castiel took a step toward the door, turned back. "Some day you must explain to me the origin of that expression." And he left.

.

Castiel's argument to Zachariah was: We must tell Dean that Sam is drinking demon blood in order to increase his supernatural powers. Sam's soul is in immediate danger, and Dean is the only one who may be able to reach him.

Zachariah's argument to Castiel was: Sam's beefing up his power in order to kill Lilith, right? He's not hurting Dean, right? And Dean will be even more tortured than he is now if he's worrying about his baby brother, right? So let the loose cannon roll around on the deck. Who knows, maybe it'll let off a shot that will actually kill Lilith, and we can all go home.

The total conversation took two hours, and Zachariah won, as he must.

.

It occurred to Castiel that, as hard as capturing Alastair would be, trying to keep him imprisoned would be the equivalent of keeping a hurricane imprisoned. On the chance that they did capture Alastair or a demon of equal power, Castiel spent several days constructing an escape-proof Enochian devil's trap. He created it in an abandoned building outside La Lluvia, but imbued it with the ability to be miraculously transported, markings on the floor and all, to any large empty room.

He spent the next several days stalking lower-level demons and trying to get information from them. Occasionally he took Uriel along, although Uriel had a tendency to give into his righteous indignation and kill the potential informants, which severely restricted their usefulness. So Castiel mostly hunted by himself.

On one of these solo missions, he suddenly heard: Castiel, come here if you want your damn information.

He'd have almost thought it was from Dean if it hadn't been for the demonic screech accompanying the message. He was with Ruby in an instant. "You know where Alastair is?"

"Greybull, Wyoming."

"Why?"

"No idea. Sam and Dean were driving west across Nebraska and I went on ahead. I sensed him, I found him, I got the hell out. Have fun. I'm going to see if I can't find Sam something to hunt in Florida."

The name of the town was all the information he needed. To anyone with angelic eyes, it was perfectly clear where Alastair's base was: In a funeral home completely covered with anti-angelic sigils invisible to the human eye. Occasionally a torrent of black smoke the size of a car would shoot out of the funeral home at tornadic speed and go back in the same way. That wouldn't do. Alastair needed to be in a vessel for them to capture and interrogate him, and Castiel couldn't penetrate the anti-angelic symbols on the building.

He communed with Heaven, received an assistant and information. The fact that people had stopped dying two days ago in Greybull, no matter what happened to them, made it obvious that Alastair had abducted the local reaper and was holding him in the funeral home. Castiel's assistant brought the information that if two reapers were destroyed under a solstice moon, a seal would be broken. The winter solstice was in less than three days.

For hours they tried to penetrate the anti-angelic sigils on the building, tried to lure Alastair out in a vessel, tried to communicate with other reapers to see if they might have any idea how their co-worker could be rescued. Nothing was successful, and while he didn't know exactly what humans meant by "frantic," it was safe to say that Castiel was extremely concerned. He wished that he had Dean's and Sam's facility with plotting.

And then it occurred to him: Why not use Dean's and Sam's facility with plotting?

He'd been told to give up Winchester duty for the time being, but he'd also been told to use every resource to find the angel-killer. Not only would a demon as high in the ranks as Alastair surely know about the angel killer, but he was on the verge of breaking a seal, and the Winchesters were the best resource Castiel had.

The problem was that, when it came to Castiel, they were contrarian. I've just pulled you out of Hell; thanks very much, here's a knife in the heart. We need to destroy a town to keep a seal from being broken; no thanks, we'd rather let the seal get broken. Please turn over a criminal to face Heaven's justice; no thanks, we'll plot to get her grace back.

But if someone else asked them to go to Greybull . . .

Castiel called Sam. He was certain that he could alter his vessel's vocal cords to match Bobby Singer's voice perfectly, but the manner of speech was something else. Dean knew Castiel well enough that if he accidentally slipped into more formal speech patterns than Singer's, Dean might smell a rat. Sam didn't know Castiel as well, and indeed it took only a three-minute call before Sam told "Bobby" that they'd start for Greybull immediately. Castiel hung up the telephone feeling brilliantly devious.

He turned in the booth to survey the town's cold wind-swept main street, lined with Christmas lights and busy with cars. The solstice was two days and a few hours away.

.

They knew the seal was saved when one of the reapers left the funeral home alive. They knew Alastair was theirs when Dean Winchester (even if it was only Dean's astral projection) stepped outside the funeral home. Alastair would be seething at the failure of his plan, and would want to take out his rage by tormenting the man he'd once had under his complete control. There wasn't much Alastair could do to an astral projection as a cloud of smoke, so he'd have to follow Dean outside in a vessel to taunt and threaten him.

The combined energy of three angels crashed to the ground around Alastair, sealed him in his vessel, and slammed him to the room with the devil's trap Castiel had constructed. It was over before Dean could finish recoiling from what looked to him like a giant lightning bolt.

"What the hell?"

"Not exactly," Castiel said behind him, and if he was smiling surely that could be forgiven on the occasion of such a momentous victory.

Unfortunately, they couldn't get any information from Alastair.

He denied knowing anything about a demon who killed angels. They tried to trick him, and he still denied knowing anything. They put him in the Chamber, and he complained of boredom.

The decision was handed down to beat Alastair while he was chained inside the devil's trap. Castiel protested – needless to say, not out of love for Alastair but because he knew this was the kind of thing Heaven was supposed to stand against. He had to stop his protests, shaken, when Zachariah told him that this order had come from the highest levels.

In the time that it took to get from the conference with Zachariah to the room where Alastair was held (virtually no time), Castiel had worked something out. It was a sacrifice. In order to save the lives of angels who would otherwise be killed, someone was being asked to sacrifice part of themselves, a part of their righteousness, of their grace.

He wouldn't let anyone else make that sacrifice.

In a room next to the devil's trap, Castiel removed his coat, suit jacket, and tie. Alastair, watching through an open door, began laughing softly. Castiel walked toward Alastair, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"I bet your friends love to hear the story of your courageous rescue of Dean Winchester," Alastair said. "Do you ever tell them how I had you on your knees? How you whimpered when I cut you with your own sword?"

"Who's killing angels, and what weapon is he using?"

Alastair looked Castiel over slowly, head to foot and back.

"Oh, now this is work for a soldier." The words oozed from his throat. "Beating a shackled prisoner? No wonder they sent a war hero."

Castiel didn't think he reacted outwardly to that. "Who's killing angels, and what weapon is he using?"

"Please, choir-boy. Don't savage my innocent flesh."

Castiel slammed a fist into Alastair's gut. Air and a groan exploded from the demon's mouth. Then he took a deep choking breath and whispered, "I forgot the question?"

The angel beat the demon with his fists for an hour, moved on to an iron rod. He got something from Alastair, all right – bellows of pain. And in between the blows and the yells, comments like:

"That was pathetic. Don't ever apply for a job with my department."

"You're not enjoying yourself enough. You have to enjoy it to inflict maximum pain."

"You know, sometimes bribery works better than brutality. Why don't you give me a few days alone with Deany-boy? I bet I'd sing like a canary."

Castiel slammed the rod sideways into Alastair's solar plexus so hard that he lost balance and had to brace himself on the upright stand where Alastair was chained. The blow made the demon double over, to the extent he could, and Castiel could hear the demon's labored breathing in his ear as he leaned and caught his own breath.

Then this whisper: "Really got you. With that one. Can't say I blame you. Exciting young man. Isn't he?"

Castiel dropped the iron bar and just sent angelic energy directly into Alastair. That put an end to the commentary. But 20 minutes of questioning and screaming later, it also hadn't produced any information.

Castiel staggered into the next room and collapsed to his knees. In the devil's trap Alastair hung limply, drooling blood. Castiel prayed desperately that he could understand the need for this, hearing in his head a desperate prayer for forgiveness in Jimmy's voice.

And then another voice: Zachariah, telling him to go to Columbus, Ohio immediately.

He remained on his knees, his eyes closed.

Then he stood slowly. With shaking hands he rolled down his shirt sleeves, put on his tie and suit jacket and coat. Then he left.

He knew exactly where in Columbus to go when he was within ten miles of the city; residents a half-mile away could have told him. In a parking lot beside a broad avenue lined with street lamps of highway brightness, the urban equivalent of the rainforest cataclysm had taken place. A streetlamp had been yanked up and slammed into a building. Street signs were strewn like toothpicks; the post of one was lodged in a tree, the one-way sign pointing straight down. At least a dozen cars were smashed into each other, upended and scattered like toys of a child who'd had a temper tantrum. On many of them the lights were flashing and horns blaring in anti-theft panic – ridiculously, since there was only one person visible there before Castiel arrived, and she was dead.

With a gesture, Castiel silenced the horns and dimmed the lights. Then he walked to the blonde woman whose body lay on the pavement in the heart of the catastrophe.

The panels of her gauzy, floating white dress were swirled around and over her. Castiel knelt to lift the fabric over her neck, but already knew he would see the bloody wound at the base of her throat.

"Goodbye, sister," he said softly.

This should make him more determined to make Alastair suffer until he gave them the information they needed. But it didn't. He simply wished –

He didn't even know what to wish for.

When the police cars pulled up seconds later, Castiel was in Zachariah's office with Uriel.

"Obviously, the current tactic isn't working," Zachariah said grimly. "We need to make some changes."

"Is it possible that Alastair simply doesn't know?" Castiel asked.

"Not a chance," Zachariah said. "A demon capable of killing angels? You think that's going to fly under the infernal radar? He's going to be a rock star down there, and that weapon is going to be the most coveted object since the Golden Fleece. Of course Alastair knows about it."

Castiel nodded.

"We feel," Uriel said, "we feel that, while you certainly did your best, perhaps the angelic spirit just isn't suited for work of this nature."

A twitch of a smile visited Castiel's face. "Are you going to ask a demon to torture Alastair?"

"Obviously that's impractical," Zachariah said. He shot a glance at Uriel, who'd been standing stiffly by the door, his hands behind his back, at least since Castiel had arrived. "However, a human being with demonic training would almost certainly be more successful than any of us."

"Where are you – "

He actually started the sentence before something like panic flooded him. Now he understood the intensity of Zachariah's gaze. "Not Dean Winchester. No."


	6. Chapter 6

_ The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode, "On the Head of a Pin."_

.

Zachariah raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, were you giving the orders here?"

"He has just begun – just begun – to forgive himself for what he became in Hell. It is – " Castiel flailed for words – "it is simply wrong to thrust him back into that nightmare."

"If Heaven requires it, it's not wrong."

"I thought that our superiors had work for Winchester. This will destroy him, and how will he be able – "

"Perhaps this is the work our superiors have for him. All I know is that my superiors gave me my orders. Which they got from their superiors, which they got from their superiors – Do you understand what I am saying?"

Castiel stared at him, trying to believe it, and Zachariah flipped a hand at him dismissively. "But since it upsets you, you don't need to be a part of this." He looked over at the grim figure near the door. "Uriel, find Winchester and take him to Alastair. Supply him with anything he asks for."

"I beg your pardon, sir," Uriel said, "but I can't do it. Winchester would rather be tortured himself than take an order from most angels. He will only do it if Castiel requests it."

Zachariah's head snapped around and he glared at Castiel. "What was that?"

There was no point in trying to hide the flash of feeling at this point. "I'm – very sorry."

"What was that?"

Zachariah wanted him to say it out loud, and perhaps he should. Castiel took a breath. "It was pride."

"Pride in what?"

"When Uriel – said that my charge trusted me enough – that he would only do this if I requested it – I felt pride."

"Yes, you did." Zachariah slammed a hand down on his desk and leaned across it. "Do you even understand how far you've gone? How close you are to falling?"

"I have always," Castiel said with just a trace of anger, "always been an obedient servant of God and my superiors."

Then he lowered his gaze away from Zachariah's. "But – I must admit that lately – I have had – questions."

"Questions. Would you like us to bring God into the office so He can explain Himself to you?"

Castiel bowed his head.

"If I may, sir," Uriel said, "I don't believe that this is unprecedented. It is my understanding that not infrequently the most able of us are the most susceptible to doubts."

"Of course they are!" Zachariah snapped. "Lucifer was brilliantly able. Do you think he doesn't recognize ability? Of course his forces focus on those of us who would be most valuable to them, and set up situations where they can work to turn our best warriors. Castiel likes humans. Therefore his emotions and his – " Zachariah hesitated, then spat out the word – "caring for his charges will be his weakness. Emotions are doorways to doubt, and they're just waiting for Castiel to walk through. How do you think Anaciel started? How do you think Lucifer himself started? All they had were a few – " he looked at Castiel directly – "questions."

Castiel sighed deeply, then looked up at Zachariah.

"You are correct, of course," he said. "I hadn't realized myself how I have endangered the Host."

Zachariah just looked at him for a long moment.

"From now on you will be Uriel's aide. You are to follow his orders explicitly and completely. You will persuade Dean Winchester to get the information we need out of Alastair, however that needs to be done." He looked over at Uriel. "You will report to me both about the mission and about any – questions your aide has."

"Yes, sir," Uriel said.

They knew that the Winchesters were on a road that led to Cheyenne, Wyoming. They moved the devil's trap and Alastair to an old meat-packing plant outside of town. Because it was a good a place as any to wait until they knew exactly where the brothers stopped, Castiel and Uriel sat on the roof of the state capitol just in front of the domed tower, watching the lights above and below. Below it was mostly street lights – it was late at night, humans were letting their bodies go dormant, and there weren't many cars moving.

Castiel breathed deeply, an effort to banish the feeling that he'd been kicked in the stomach. It was not only Zachariah's right to demote him, but he had been correct in doing so. For what Castiel had done, the punishment could have been worse – although thinking of what lay ahead, he almost thought it couldn't be.

"I am sorry, Castiel," Uriel said.

"For my demotion? Don't be. Zachariah was right. I have been – closer to falling than I'd like to believe."

There was silence for a moment.

"I don't understand why a pedestrian mind like Zachariah's is allowed to hold sway over – "

"Don't," Castiel said.

"I'm not being emotional. He has a pedestrian mind. I don't understand why Heaven's structure is – why he should – "

Castiel glanced over at Uriel with the faintest hint of a smile. "Are you testing me already, Uriel?"

"I am not. You know what I think of our leadership. We spoke of it once before."

"We did. You thought it was possible that one of our brethren had betrayed Matthias and Ezekiel to the demon."

"I still do. An angel betrayed angels. While mud monkeys ravage and despoil the Earth and Lilith breaks seals unchecked. And the most forceful response they have is to humiliate you. Castiel, to me, injustice is rampant in both Heaven and Earth."

"God's ways are hard to discern."

"If they are God's ways."

Castiel felt a faint thrill of fear. "Uriel, you – are you questioning the Plan?"

A moment's hesitation. "I'm questioning the implementation of the Plan. I'm saying that I wonder if Michael and Raphael would recognize the Plan if our brother Lucifer expended his last ray of light to illuminate it for them."

In the last four hours, Castiel had tortured a bound prisoner, seen the body of a murdered comrade, been demoted, and been ordered to take part in something that he was sure would destroy his charge. At any other time, Uriel's declaration would have shaken him deeply. As it was, he only frowned a little, cocked his head, and looked at Uriel to ask a question.

"The Winchesters have stopped," Uriel said suddenly.

They had, two minutes ago. Castiel had been putting off this moment.

Uriel was listening. "Room 18. Let's go." He put a hand on Castiel's arm, his voice now the commanding officer's rather than the confiding friend's. "Let me explain what needs to be done. You stick to wheedling Winchester."

.

Again Castiel felt that sense of betrayal from Dean, as though he'd expected more from Castiel. And Dean picked up very fast on the change in his and Uriel's status. Dean refused, of course, and Uriel allowed him only one refusal before touching him and taking him to the room outside the devil's trap.

_Don't leave Sam alone_, Castiel thought as the three of them vanished, _Don't underestimate Sam_.

He didn't say it out loud, so perhaps he was partly to blame for what happened later.

But Dean's emotions, as the hunter looked through the small round window in the door that led to Alastair's prison, almost battered Castiel physically: terror, disgust, betrayal, righteous anger, shame, and below it all a desire for sadistic vengeance. Castiel was having a hard time keeping his energy masked and his vessel upright, so warning Uriel to go back, bring Sam, and keep an eye on him was very low on the angel's priority list.

Dean demanded to speak to Castiel alone, and Uriel grinned and said something about going to seek revelation before he left.

Dean asked why Uriel was now in charge, and Castiel forced himself to look directly at Dean. "I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions, doorways to doubt." He could not look into that honest, angrily astonished face; his gaze shifted again. "This can impair my judgment."

Dean went over to stare through the window again as he said, "Well, tell Uriel or whoever – you do not want me doin' this. Trust me."

"Want it? No. But I've been told we need it."

In a small voice, "You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."

If Castiel had been human, he might have reassured Dean – this would upset him, of course, but he would be the same man afterward that he'd been before. But Castiel knew better, and couldn't lie. "For what it's worth, I – I would give anything not to have you do this."

Dean turned back to Castiel, and his gaze fell on a cloth-covered gurney with one object on it, an iron rod. "That the official Angel Torture Instrument?"

Castiel swallowed. "I've been told to supply you with – whatever you require."

Dean looked at him suddenly, sharply. "These angels who were murdered, they were all from your garrison?"

Castiel nodded. Then he realized what Dean was thinking and the desire to say something swelled in him until he thought Jimmy's heart would burst. _Don't do this to repay or protect me, Dean. Don't even use that as an excuse_.

But he said nothing.

Dean sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "OK, then. Start with the basics." He put the demon-killing knife on the gurney. "Salt."

Castiel opened a large black cabinet standing by one wall. It was empty, but Dean didn't seem even slightly surprised when Cas pulled out of it a large box of salt.

"Holy water, a big jug. A ritual goblet and, yeah, just a regular glass. Three scalpels, different sizes, one with a dull edge. Syringe." Then he shook his head, businesslike. "Three syringes. They thrash around and break the points off. Couple yards of four-aught double-loop chain. Two – no, wait – " A smile that, although brief, made Castiel shudder with remembered revulsion. "Four large fishhooks and a spool of fishing line. A bolt cutter. Heavy duty work gloves . . . "

.

Castiel understood basically the human concept of sarcasm: Say the opposite of what you mean in a rough enough tone and (most) other humans will understand that you mean the opposite. Dean used this form of expression often enough that Castiel was beginning to understand when it was used, and he'd saved one of Dean's sentences to use it himself someday and surprise a human with his ability to be sarcastic. However, either the occasion hadn't arisen or the sentence had fled his mind at the time.

Now, though, listening to Alastair moan and bellow in the next room, feeling the cracks that rage and cruelty were putting in Dean's soul, himself demoted and shamed and soul-battered from beating a chained prisoner, as he looked up at flickering sparking lights and felt a familiar presence at his back, Castiel heard Dean's sentence roll into his mind pat:

_That was exactly what this day needed_.

"Anna," he said.

"Hello, Castiel."

She was using human speech, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a brittle doe-eyed woman with long red hair. "Your human body – "

"It was destroyed, I know. But I guess I'm sentimental. Called in some old favors, and – "

She broke off as Alastair gave a full-throated scream.

"You shouldn't be here." Castiel tried to put iron in his voice. "We still have orders to kill you."

"Somehow," she said softly, "I don't think you'll try."

Anna wanted Castiel to stop the torturing immediately. She was sure that it was not God's will, merely the will of some high-ranking angel.

Castiel argued. He had to. Because if God disapproved of the orders, and wasn't quickly and decisively correcting the archangels, then it meant that God had indeed withdrawn from Heaven. It meant that angels had no more idea of God's true intention, of God's Plan, than humans did, and that the fear Heaven had felt for so long was justified. Either God had ordered torture, or God was not the leader of Heaven, and in the moment when Anna broke off to hear Alastair strangling on blood, Castiel realized that he didn't know which would be worse.

"The Father you love – you think He wants this?" Anna's quiet voice had the force of hammer blows. "You think He'd ask this of you? You think this is righteous?"

She told him that he was feeling doubt – which apparently made that opinion unanimous in the celestial dimension. She was telling him that the orders were wrong and that he could rebel against them, and he wanted to so badly –

Then it occurred to him: Satan doesn't tempt you with things you don't want. You are tempted by things you want desperately.

"You can do the right thing," she said, laying her light hand on top of his. "You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can – "

"Together?" He threw her hand off and broke away from her persuasive voice, her pleading gaze, to stare through the window at what Dean was doing to Alastair now. "I am nothing like you! You fell! Go."

"Cas."

"Go." The threat in his tone was real, and she went.

Then there was the sound of Alastair bellowing again. The feeling of Dean's soul starting to warp, nothing like as mutilated as it had been in Hell, but beginning to twist in the same patterns.

Half an hour later, Castiel was beginning to feel as if he himself were being tortured. Alastair still hadn't broken, but Dean's soul was battered to the point that Castiel was seriously considering finding Sam.

Then he heard Uriel. "Castiel, report to me."

He fought down a quick flare of anger. Uriel had forced Dean into this situation, and now couldn't even bother to be present where the horror was taking place.

But to be honest, it was Zachariah's order, which Uriel was merely implementing. And Dean had expressly urged Uriel to leave. And Castiel had to control his emotion; he had no desire to be demoted again, to fail, to fall.

He found Uriel in the middle of a park, where their privacy was guaranteed by the nighttime and the bitter cold. "I am here, Uriel."

Uriel, who had been pacing, stopped and looked at him. "I felt I should tell you that I requested permission to kill Sam Winchester."

Castiel's breath stopped and he went completely rigid. He was so shaken that his vessel was reacting. _Control. Control. They're only humans. Their lives are over in the blink of an eye anyway_.

Uriel looked at him for a moment, and Castiel simply looked back.

Then Uriel said, "I was refused."

Castiel began breathing again.

"Then I requested permission to kill that demon whore Ruby."

That was far more understandable. She'd been useful in finding Alastair, but Castiel didn't for a moment believe that she was feeding and training Sam for the benefit of humanity.

"I was refused again."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Interesting."

Uriel dropped down on a park bench. He was having difficulty masking his own emotions, rather to Castiel's (well hidden) satisfaction. "You've always understood how the minds of our superiors work better than I have, Castiel. Sam is filling himself with arrogance and demonic power. He can be nothing but a pernicious influence on Dean, who our superiors claim is so important. And Ruby is – a demon! We kill demons! Regularly! Why are both of them protected? Can you explain this to me?"

Castiel sat beside him. He was sensing brutal waves of guilt from Dean, but he needed to make this clear to Uriel while Uriel was in a listening mood.

"I can only speculate. Sam is very important to Dean, the only living member of his family, a younger brother he has protected throughout his lifetime. If Sam were to be killed, the spiritual stress on Dean would be profound – certainly more profound than any pernicious influence Sam may have by cultivating his powers. Recall that Dean sold his soul when Sam died before, in order to bring Sam back to life. If Sam were to die again – particularly if Dean ever suspected that Heaven was behind it – " Castiel tried to imagine it himself, and failed. "I can have no idea what Dean would do this time. Particularly since his soul is being damaged as we talk here. But whatever he would do, be assured, it would not be of help to Heaven."

Uriel thought about it for a moment, nodded reluctantly. "And Ruby?"

"I don't understand that myself, Uriel. I can only assume that our superiors want Sam to be strong. Ruby is – helping him develop his strength."

Uriel looked at him. "They want the Righteous Man's brother to be filled with demonic strength."

"As I say, this is merely speculation."

"Something is very wrong in Heaven, Castiel."

"I do – I wonder – I understand how you could feel that way." Castiel stood. "But we should go back now."

"Castiel, I want you to know – I realize that this, that our use of Dean in this matter, is distressing to you. To me – " Uriel shrugged – "they're all savages, just one breath from torturing or killing their neighbors, and you must know that their history agrees with me. I don't believe that torturing the demon who tortured him is going to be that shattering to Dean. But I know you believe it, and it distresses you, and it was never my intention to drive a wedge between us."

"You haven't done that. I know the original orders weren't yours. But I feel that the fulfillment of those orders requires me to return. Are you coming?"

"Not just yet. I may have – communicated my feelings somewhat frankly with our superiors. I should communicate again and – and – "

"Mend a fence."

Uriel looked up. "What?"

"It's a human expression. Call if you need me again."

When he got back to the room next to the torture chamber, Alastair was talking. Not screaming, not murmuring taunts through a blood-filled mouth, just talking loudly in his normal sneering tone, and for a moment before he got to the windowed door, Castiel hoped it was all over.

How had Alastair got free?

For one second, Castiel simply didn't believe it. Somehow the devil's trap had broken. The demon-killing knife lay on the floor and Dean had been beaten bloody. Alastair, his vessel pale and gory from all it had undergone but at full demonic strength, was holding Dean by the throat with one hand, suspending him in the air, strangling him.

Castiel materialized next to the knife, scooped it up and struck, but Alastair sensed him and turned, dropping Dean and throwing Castiel back.

Except for Lilith, Alastair was the strongest demon Castiel had ever fought. He'd beaten some very tough customers over the centuries, but it wasn't five minutes before Alastair had Castiel slammed onto a hook on the wall, his arm dislocated so that he couldn't lift it to Alastair's head. Alastair began the Latin chant that would send Castiel back to Heaven, and Castiel was fighting it when Alastair suddenly flew away from him, pinned against the opposite wall.

Sam Winchester, his hand extended, moved to the middle of the room from the doorway radiating calm.

Ruby must have used her magic to let Sam find them, and her blood to give him preternatural power. Sam glanced down to be sure Dean was breathing, but didn't even spare a look at Castiel, who wrenched himself free from the hook and healed his shoulder and back as Sam asked Alastair, "Who's killing the angels? How are they doing it?"

"You think I'm going to tell you?"

"Yeah, I do," Sam said in a conversational tone, and turned his hand as though he were turning Alastair's guts inside of him. The demon's eyes went white, he made sounds deep in his throat, and for the first time since he'd been in the devil's trap he did not look like on some level he was enjoying this.

It took Sam less than a minute to wrench the truth out of Alastair. ("You have to enjoy it to inflict maximum pain," Alastair had said.) Sounding as if the words were being forced from him by someone jumping on his stomach, Alastair gagged out: "Lilith is not behind this! She wouldn't kill seven angels! She'd kill a hundred," and with fantasizing pleasure, "a thousand."

Sam dropped his hand. Alastair, as if indulging a petulant child, told Sam to go ahead and exorcise him. Sam smiled frighteningly. "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill."

Castiel stared at him, remembering Sam's exhaustion and nosebleed after his battle with Samhain. There was none of that now. He extended his hand again and closed his eyes, as if he were meditating. Alastair's head slammed back against the wall, his eyes bulged, and he gasped. Sam opened his eyes and gave Alastair another chilling smile; light bled from Alastair's whole body; they could see his vessel's bones by it. The room shook. With a blinding orange flash the vessel crashed dead to the floor, its eyes still bulging, and Alastair, the terror of Hell itself, no longer existed.

Sam caught a quick breath, met Castiel's eyes, and looked away, but in that instant Castiel could read, under Sam's brief abashedness, a steadier smugness: _I did it, and none of you could_.

But then Sam looked down at Dean and everything else became secondary as he knelt beside his brother.

Castiel dropped down on Dean's other side. The greatest concerns were two blood clots, and he healed them quickly, Sam looking between his face and Dean's with anxiety. A broken rib had punctured and collapsed a lung; he healed the rib, healed and reinflated the lung. He put his hand on Dean's head where there was a concussion, and as that healed Dean came back to consciousness. Castiel re-secured three teeth that had been loosened.

"Stop." Dean raised his arm to bat Castiel's hand away. "Don't."

"Dean, he's healing you," Sam said.

"Tell'm to stop." Dean's mouth was so bruised that his words were coming out slurred. "Where's Alastair?"

Cas and Sam exchanged a glance. Castiel said, "Dead."

"Good f'r you." Dean struggled up to one elbow and stared Castiel in the face, the stare more disconcerting because one of his eyes was swollen shut. "He tol' me."

Castiel cocked his head questioningly.

"The firs' seal. He tol' me. Is't true?"

Alastair had told Dean that Dean himself had broken the first seal on Lucifer's cage. That explained the waves of guilt he'd sensed from Dean during his meeting with Uriel. His hesitation gave Dean the answer.

"God." Dean covered his face with one hand.

"Dean?" Sam said. "What about the first seal?"

Somehow Dean lunged to his feet and the other two sprang up also. Castiel tried to support him and Dean waved him away again. "Help some'ne who d'serves it."

"You deserve it, Dean," Castiel said. "And you need it. You still have considerable blood loss, deep tissue bruising, two broken ribs – "

"Anna partridge inna pear tree." Dean was heading for the door. "I said lea' me alone."

"Dean, you're not leaving until Cas heals you," Sam said flatly.

Dean leaned against the wall. "You don' know, Sammy. You don' know. Lea' me alone."

"Don't know what?" Sam yelled, and Dean slid to the floor unconscious.

"Heal him now." Sam was giving an order to an angel.

"He will not die. And he doesn't want me to."

"Who cares? Do it anyway."

Castiel looked at him directly. "Are you so far gone that you've forgotten the human need to pay penance?"

Sam's gaze dropped, then met Castiel's again. "Maybe so. But at least I'm not so far gone that I force someone into a place where they pay penance by getting the life beat out of them."

Now Castiel looked away.

"You know what, fine." Sam went to Dean and took his wallet. Dean groaned and tried to sit up again. Sam stood and looked at Castiel. "You can get him to Cheyenne Regional faster than an ambulance. He'll be a John Doe you found beaten up and robbed near the hospital. When I get there I'll be a tourist looking for my brother." He picked up the demon-killing knife and stashed it in his jacket. "And then we'll talk about the healing thing again. And a few other things." His gaze swept the room. "Like how two angels manage to screw up a straightforward devil's trap."

With a ferocious bang, he slammed the door open and left.

Dean stood, shakily. "Where's he goin'?"

"Ahead of us. We'll see him soon." Castiel pulled up one of Dean's arms, eliciting another groan, and draped it across his shoulders. Dean tried to pull away, but the angel easily won the strength contest, and the two of them disappeared from the torture chamber.


	7. Chapter 7

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode "On the Head of a Pin."_

.

Dean was still in the emergency room when Sam arrived. Castiel, in spite of the fact that he was playing a stranger, waited to get reports on Dean's condition, but when Sam arrived he thanked the "good Samaritan" and then said, "You don't have to wait here. I really appreciate it. But I know you have other stuff to do."

His voice was youthful, humble, grateful, and his gaze was tempered steel. Castiel couldn't blame him. He left.

For a while he wandered the streets near the hospital. Angels too can feel the need for expiation, although they mostly don't. For the first time he understood why some humans beat themselves, although such behavior had never made him feel more than a repulsed amusement before. That couldn't be the route to atonement for an angel, though, a being of greater understanding.

He stopped and closed his eyes while he cleared mocking laughter from his mind.

No, his route to expiation had to be different. He would do his duty, humbly and diligently, try to repair what could be repaired (if Dean would let him), accept blame for what couldn't be repaired, all without self-pity and without asking for forgiveness except from God.

But before he could pray, he had to report to Uriel.

The breaking of the devil's trap, the attack on Dean, Sam using supernatural powers, and Alastair's death all made Uriel grave but not irate, as if a higher position had cooled his temper already, or as if he had something else on his mind. He told Castiel that he would report to Zachariah, and would call Castiel when the next steps had been decided.

Now Castiel could pray, which he did almost desperately, asking for understanding and guidance. He prayed long and hard for God to reveal Himself to the archangels, if indeed He had done something that they interpreted as withdrawing, so that the leadership of Heaven might be infallibly certain again. He prayed for the soul of Sam Winchester. And he prayed for healing of the broken spirit and broken body of Dean Winchester.

Hours later, feeling much better, he went to the hospital to see Sam. In some way it seemed not right for an angel to apologize to a human, but in another way he felt compelled to do it.

It didn't go well. He paused in the doorway to see Dean in a deep medicated sleep while Sam sat by his bed. When Sam saw him, Cas indicated with a nod of his head that they should talk in the hallway. Sam came barreling out the door filled with fear and anger. Castiel was only able to blurt out an apology for the devil's trap breaking between bursts of Sam's fury.

"This whole thing was pointless. You understand? The demons aren't doing this. Something else is killing your soldiers."

"Perhaps Alastair was lying."

"No. He wasn't," and Sam headed back to Dean's room.

Castiel had to admit it – he himself didn't think Alastair had been lying.

Which left an unthinkable alternative.

"If not the demons, what could it be?" Uriel asked when they consulted later.

Castiel was still reeling at the thought. "The will of Heaven. We are failing, Uriel. We are losing the war. Perhaps the garrison is being punished."

He didn't know why he felt a sudden, rapidly disguised flash of satisfaction from Uriel as he said this, because Uriel appeared to disagree with him. "You think our Father would – "

"I think," Castiel's tone was quiet because even he was past emotion, "maybe our Father isn't giving the orders anymore. Maybe there is something wrong."

Uriel stood, looking at the sky vengefully. "Well, I won't wait to be gutted," he said, and was gone.

Then Cas heard, "Castiel, follow me."

He did so. Uriel was in the far north, a desolate place many degrees below freezing, with an aurora rippling in stunning waves of pure light and color overhead. It was the closest thing on Earth to angelic communication. Although they were both still in their vessels and using human speech, the aurora provided a shield for their energies' intent, should any other angel be listening.

"Castiel," Uriel said, and Castiel forced his attention away from the beauty above them.

"Castiel, I am one of – There is a group of us. We have come to feel that Heaven's leaders no longer care about those of us doing the actual work and fighting. You said just now that we are being killed by our own superiors for failing, but when was the last time any of them worked or fought with us, understood what is involved? How can they be Heaven's leaders when they no longer care about Heaven?"

"And your group – "

"We plan to fight."

Castiel stepped backward. Of course, in human terms, when a leader no longer cared about his people, it made sense to supplant him. But rebelling against archangels who had been created by God to rule Heaven since the beginning of time?

"I understand," Uriel said. "I felt the same way when I first considered the idea. But you yourself admit that God is not ruling the archangels anymore. So the deaths of our brethren are not the will of God. They are simply – angels killing angels out of anger or frustration." Uriel shook his head and shrugged. "We can wait to be struck down, or we can act."

"But – even if – even if such a plot were just, and even if you could win – with whom would you replace Raphael? And – and Michael?"

Uriel cocked his head much like Castiel. "Can you think of no one?"

For a moment he couldn't; then he looked at Uriel in astonishment. "Gabriel? Has Gabriel returned?"

"There is only so much that I think I can say," Uriel said. "Let me just tell you that we have strong and capable leadership, and that the power of Heaven will be distributed far better than it has been."

Castiel looked up at the aurora again.

"I understand," Uriel said, "and I knew you do as well, what the penalty would be for rebellion. It is fearful to contemplate – "

"None of us fears destruction if the cause is just, Uriel. I simply – I need to consider whether this is truly God's cause. I need to pray."

After a pause, Uriel nodded. "I understand, of course."

"I'll give you an answer as soon as possible," Castiel said. "In the meantime, I will of course keep your confidence."

Uriel smiled. "It never occurred to me that you would do otherwise."

Castiel went from there to the warmth of La Lluvia. At some point he needed to examine the failed devil's trap in Wyoming, but he was concerned about the seal. It had been more than a month since his leaders had ordered him not to work on anything else until the angel-killer was found. But he wasn't going to think about the leadership of Heaven. Or his own doubts. Or the plot that Uriel wanted him to join. Or Dean Winchester lying broken in a hospital bed, refusing to be healed, while Sam's anger at Heaven seethed, doubtless to Ruby's joy. Castiel was going to protect this seal.

He had received no sense of urgency from Martha, but Lorraine had been anxious and depressed. This was probably no more than the stress of the holiday season on someone who was estranged from her family, but Castiel didn't like it, and made a note to think of a way of drawing Lorraine closer to her parents within the next week or so. Of course a great many demands were being made on Mahon's time, and while it didn't bother Castiel that this severely cut into Mahon's time with Lorraine, it bothered both of them. Lorraine had spent most of Christmas Day by herself, although she'd gone to Katie's family's house for dinner.

He spent most of the day in town, searching for traces of demonic influence, checking the church sanctuary to be sure that nothing edged was casually lying around, making second visits to other areas of hallowed ground just to see if anything else seemed more likely to be the site of a seal. He attended a New Year's Eve service, looking steadily at Mahon for awhile and contemplating the obvious discomfiture flickering in the minister's energy under Castiel's gaze. But then he let it go and enjoyed the message, flawed messenger and all, the choir, the feel of multiple energies reaching toward God at once in prayer.

Lorraine had joined Martha and her husband at the service, Castiel was glad to note. After the two women had spent a few minutes fretting that Cass had to be away from home on New Year's Eve and asking if he had plans for tomorrow, he left. The service had calmed and quieted his energy.

He checked on the Winchesters. Sam was having a late dinner at a 24-hour diner near a motel, wolfing down a double bacon cheeseburger as if in emulation of his brother, or as though he couldn't get enough protein. Dean was sleeping.

Castiel took a walk through a residential neighborhood that was quiet except for occasional strings of firecrackers going off, some near, some far away.

Why was he even considering Uriel's cause? Was he just angry at his demotion? Because even to think about overthrowing Heaven's rulers out of pride and balked ambition was simply Luciferian, everything he despised.

On the other hand, Castiel had already been Luciferian. He had beaten a chained prisoner. He had watched Dean torture Alastair, as Alastair had watched Dean torture damned souls. And this had been not just with Heaven's approval, but at its insistence.

He had obeyed because he had always obeyed, because angels don't question the will of God. But Anna had been right – as hard as he thought, as sincerely as he prayed, he could not conceive of God having ordered torture.

Did Michael and Raphael deserve a revolt just because they were, for whatever reason, not in direct contact with God and were striving to lead Heaven as best they knew?

Would any other leaders have greater communion with God, or would they simply be as rigid as Michael and Raphael had become?

Would any other leaders be not so fearful, not quite so ready to resort to the Chamber, simply because angels had questions? He himself had asked many questions of God, and while most of the time he wasn't conscious of an answer, he'd never been punished by God for asking.

But there he was again, justifying a revolt because the result might be convenient for himself personally. That couldn't be right.

What would be the goal of a revolt anyway? The archangels would never simply yield power. Would they be destroyed? Cast into the Pit with Lucifer? It made him sick to think of either.

But they were all, every denizen of Heaven, right on the verge of having the Pit engulf them anyway. If Lilith kept breaking seals at the same rate she'd been doing it, Lucifer would rise. And Heaven's response so far had been entirely reactive. His own suggestion to have a small group of angels each research and protect one seal had been completely ignored, which would have been fine if another strong coordinated plan had been in place, but there wasn't. Heaven's response had been lax and disorganized. It was as though they didn't care that they would have a full-scale war on their hands if just a few more seals were broken, as though they didn't care that millions (billions?) of humans would die.

Dean Winchester would surely die fighting.

And it was all very well to tell Sam Winchester not to develop his demonic power, but what suggestions had Heaven given Sam instead?

He stopped under a streetlight and desperately called for Anna.

"Decided to kill me after all?" The detached, ironic voice was a few yards behind him as the streetlight flickered and arced.

He turned. "I'm alone."

He fumbled around, telling her only that he was considering disobedience, and that he hated the feeling inside of him. She sympathized, but apparently couldn't reassure. "It gets worse," she simply said. "Choosing your own course of action can be confusing. Terrifying."

She had come close enough to him by then that she put a hand on his arm, and he had to stop himself from physically pulling away. She saw the way he looked at her hand, though, and pulled herself away. "That's right. You're too good for my help. I'm just trash. A walking blasphemy."

She was right, of course; it had been very insensitive of him to call her. As if one were to say, "I need to do something disgusting; you're disgusting, tell me how." But his desperation overpowered his better judgment. "Anna," he called as she walked away. "I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

Her face wasn't unsympathetic, and he remembered that for a very long time she too had relied on Heaven's directives. "Like the old days? No, I'm sorry. It's time to think for yourself."

She was gone, leaving before he could counter: What if everyone in Heaven thought for themselves? It would just be chaos. How would we know we were doing God's will?

Of course, he was no longer certain of that anyway. He turned slowly, his absent gaze sweeping the ground, not really conscious of where he was going or what he was seeing. The one thing he could be certain of –

Something familiar –

He was looking at a water fountain that had an extension on the ground, a shallow metal dish. With the turn of a valve just above the dish, you could give your dog a drink while you sipped from the top of the fountain.

He seen a water valve somewhere recently, it was –

It had been hard to find an empty building with a large enough room for the devil's trap on the short notice they'd had when they knew where Dean Winchester was going. They'd transported the trap, prisoner and all, into the room near Cheyenne, and only then had Castiel noticed that a large water pipe overhead had a bolted seam directly over one of the floor markings. So he himself had made sure that the water valve in that room was turned off and that the bolts of the seam were completely secure, while Uriel had cleared any residual water out of the pipes.

It took only a moment to get there, and a moment to see where water dripping from the seam had worn away the floor markings in the spot just underneath. It wasn't a break more than an inch wide, but for a demon it may as well have been an eight-foot gate.

Both the valve and the bolts of the overhead pipe were outside of the devil's trap. Alastair could not have moved them from inside the trap. It had to have been done by someone who had the power to turn the valve and the bolts without being physically present. Preferably someone who could observe the water eroding the trap without being in the room. Someone who could call Castiel away just before the trap broke.

"Uriel," he said quietly. "I have an answer for you."

He turned the valve off, and a moment later the water stopped dripping.

He could think of several motivations for Uriel to have broken the trap: stopping the questioning of Alastair, setting the demon free, endangering Dean, making Castiel look bad. But he suddenly realized that knowing a motivation wasn't the same as understanding why.

"You called?" Uriel said.

Castiel showed him what had happened. "We've been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each other's sides, served together away from home, for what seems like forever. We're brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect and tell me the truth."

He knew it, of course, even before the other angel slid a short sword from his sleeve. It was Uriel.

Uriel botching the questioning of possible demon informants by killing them. Uriel botching the plan to lure the angel-killer by his hopeless overacting (only an excellent actor can pretend to act badly that well). Uriel by the corpses of Matthias and Ezekiel in Brazil, trying to heal an injury that perhaps he'd received before regaining control of the sword.

Uriel plunging this sword into the throats of their brothers and sisters.

Castiel could not believe it. He'd never heard of anything like this. Not since Lucifer's fall.

Uriel was talking about breaking the devil's trap, in a rather annoyed tone. "Alastair should have killed Dean and escaped, and you should've gone on happily scapegoating the demons."

"For – the murders," Castiel had to force the word out, "of our kin."

"Not murders, Castiel. No. My work is conversion."

Conversion to what? To whom? Castiel wondered numbly. Uriel wasn't threatening him; indeed he said warmly, "I wanted you to join me. And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to – "

Castiel was reeling. "To – "

"To raise our brother."

It made sense, which was odd. Nightmares so seldom make sense. "Lucifer."

"You do remember him." Uriel took a step or two, his eyes raised reverently toward the heavens where Lucifer had once reigned as the Morning Star. "How strong he was? How beautiful?"

Castiel did remember. But the real reason Uriel worshipped Lucifer – he said it himself – was because of their shared hatred of humans. Cas understood that. What he couldn't understand was how Uriel thought that killing angels would help raise Lucifer.

"I only killed those who said no," Uriel said in matter-of-fact fashion. "Others have joined me, Cas."

Others in Heaven's ranks were working for Lucifer. Since Castiel wasn't even tempted by Uriel's proselytizing, only one question remained: Which of them would survive to tell others about this meeting.

"Help me spread the word," Uriel said, directly in front of him, looking into his eyes. "Help me bring on the Apocalypse. All you have to do is be unafraid."

Castiel could be completely truthful. "For the first time in a long time, I am."

Uriel smiled. With a hard strike to Uriel's gut, Castiel threw Uriel across the room and through a wall.

The sword flew out of Uriel's hand and Castiel thought to pick it up, but he would never be able to use it on Uriel and Uriel would know that. He made a move toward it, but Uriel was already in front of him hitting back.

Uriel didn't try to regain the sword either. Perhaps neither of them could kill the other. But they could beat each other's vessels, driven by mutual betrayal and rage.

Uriel reeled back against the gurney of torture instruments, grabbed the iron bar and struck down Castiel. He grabbed Castiel's shoulder and pulled him up enough to strike him back down again twice, exclaiming, "There is no Will! No Wrath!" He pulled Cas up again, and Castiel gathered his energy to surge upward into Uriel's face before the next blow could fall. "No God!"

Uriel raised his arm, Castiel prepared to spring, and Uriel grunted as something pointed leaped out of the base of his throat.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Anna whispered from behind Uriel, still holding the sword in the back of his neck. "But there's still me."

She yanked the sword out and Uriel collapsed. She walked over to stand beside Castiel as Uriel bellowed, light blazed from his eyes and mouth, the building shook, and Uriel's life force exploded outward, vanishing, leaving only the vessel's corpse and the shadow of Uriel's wings.

Castiel stood. "Were you following me?"

"I was following him. Last night, after I couldn't persuade you to stop the torture session, I went to Uriel. I didn't appear to him – I knew he'd try to kill me – but I thought I might discover something that would allow you to make a persuasive argument to him. He was communing, but I couldn't tell with whom, and something about his energy was very, very wrong."

"You didn't tell me that when we talked a few minutes ago."

"You weren't asking about Uriel. And you wouldn't have been ready to hear it."

Deliberately, Castiel took her hand between both of his own. "Thank you."

She glanced down at their joined hands, back up at him with a little smile. "So I guess it's all OK now. You've found the angel-killer, and all is well in Heaven?"

It was a tactic she used to use when she was his superior, but it irritated him less now. "Give me credit for a little intelligence, Anna," he said, trying to manage an answering smile. "Someone gave Uriel the order to make Dean torture Alastair, and I've come to believe you were right – wherever that order came from, it wasn't from God. Uriel gave his devotion to a false god, and nothing stopped him from killing other angels. He told me that other angels had joined him, and he was telling the truth. Free will is running rampant in Heaven."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"If God is no longer giving the orders, I suppose it is. If there are mistakes, or – or tyranny, we will need free will to correct those. Without God's immediate presence and inspiration, we may as well be winged humans."

"That's very insightful," she said softly.

Castiel bowed his head, looking at the empty vessel on the floor. "Uriel said that."

After a moment, Anna pulled her hand away and pressed something else into his palm – the angel-killing sword. "Keep this. Just in case."

"You're the one with a death sentence hanging over you."

"But I know how to evade. You're walking back into the lion's den. Aren't you?"

"Yes. I believe Heaven can be changed for the better."

Her smile was wry, but her tone genuine. "Good luck. Call me at any time."

"Anna. Where – what will you do?"

"I've discovered a seal," she said. "I'm keeping an eye on it." And she was gone.

.

Castiel had to report, but he had no idea what would happen after he reported, whether or when he'd be able to see Dean again. So he went to the hospital first.

Dean was conscious, and alone. Castiel didn't ask where Sam might be. He inquired how Dean felt and received the predictable reply that Dean was ticked off that the nurse's assistant who'd bathed him that day was male. His voice was croaky, half-whispered, but his left eye could now open most of the way.

"I'm still pissed at you. But I went ahead and agreed to do the torturing, so there's blame to go around. And your killing Alastair makes up for it."

Castiel took a breath. He hadn't after all, been ordered not to discuss Sam's power with Dean; Dean already knew about that; he'd only been ordered not to discuss the ingestion of demon blood. "I didn't kill Alastair. Sam did."

Dean impaled Castiel with a gaze that broke free of all medications. "How?"

"Easily. With an extended hand and concentration. He forced Alastair to admit that Hell had no idea who was killing angels. Then he drove the life force out of him."

"He's getting stronger. How?"

Castiel raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Dean swallowed and looked away.

"I was fighting Alastair," Cas said, "and I might have overcome him, but I might very well not have. It is very probable that Sam saved your life."

Dean looked back. "I don't want my life saved if it costs Sam his soul! I know what happens to damned souls! Remember?"

"I do."

Dean sighed deeply, wincing his pain when his lungs expanded.

"Are you all right?"

"No thanks to you."

And that was true, of course. But there was something unsettled in Dean's energy, like an unanswered question, and Castiel soon discovered what it was. Dean didn't remember that he had already asked Castiel about breaking the first seal, and now Castiel had to confirm it all over again.

And had to feel again Dean's guilt, heartbreak and terror. Telling him that "The Righteous Man who begins it is the only one who can finish it" was an attempt to make him feel that he could atone, but it just gave Dean more anguish.

"I can't do it, Cas," he whispered through pain and emotion. "It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not str – I'm not strong enough."

Castiel looked at Dean as a tear ran down the human's face.

"Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else." He was pleading. "It's not me."

Castiel looked ahead, into the distance, praying and trying to radiate calming energy. Another tear slid down Dean's face.

.

Because he couldn't know who had and hadn't joined Uriel's cause, Castiel insisted on reporting to Michael personally and alone, and was granted an audience. They met in the middle of a desert where the archangel's appearance and voice would destroy relatively few objects and creatures.

Castiel told Michael everything: About Uriel's cause; that others had joined the cause; that he himself had considered, however briefly, fighting alongside Uriel; that Anna had stopped Uriel and probably saved Castiel's life.

Michael mostly listened, his energy flaring with anger and contracting with pain, then fled back to Heaven. He put Raphael in charge of the investigation.

No energy masking could stand up to Raphael's intense individual scrutiny. Raphael burned through Castiel's garrison, and then through the others, as if they were bomb fuses, and the traitors were revealed in very short order.

Castiel had admitted himself that he had considered joining Uriel's fight – before he understood that the cause was Lucifer's – and that he had not told his superiors the moment he learned about it. On the other hand, he had fought Uriel eventually and had revealed Uriel's perfidy. As a reward, he was merely demoted further and no stronger action taken against him.

When Castiel found out (through a very confidential source) the number of traitors, he was stunned. Uriel had murdered seven angels; he had converted 38. In other garrisons, and through no influence of Uriel, other individuals and small groups were revealed who had secretly been worshipping Lucifer (and in one case, Gabriel; Castiel spared a moment to think how amused, and appalled, Gabriel would have been). The traitors were given a choice: repent and spend two weeks in the Chamber, or be destroyed.

Zachariah emerged clean from Raphael's investigation, which surprised Castiel a little, given his past lack of caring about seals being broken. It made more sense when, using his new insight, he analyzed Zachariah as if Zachariah were a human. Zachariah wanted to be on a winning team, and he felt that Michael and Raphael together were more than a match for Lucifer. He would never risk his position and his life to join what he thought was a losing side, and Uriel must have known that.

"That weasel Uriel," Zachariah said to Castiel heatedly, "was reporting to me directly, going over your head, making me think that you were being careless or obsessional, giving me all kinds of reasons to demote you. Now, of course, I realize that he wanted you to be unhappy with Heaven so you'd be ripe for the picking. If I had him in front of me, I'd kill him myself."

Castiel doubted that he could have, but kept the thought to himself, behind the constant emotional masking he was trying to perfect.

"Well, one good thing will come out of it," Zachariah said. "I'm giving your boys a vacation."

"My boys? The Winchesters?"

"Yes. Memories removed, an additional skill set, new lives. I'm going to give them what they'd call civilian jobs in a haunted office building, see how long it takes them to find each other, kill the ghost, and realize that they're meant for something else. I'm betting a month; my superior Kosiel thinks more like six weeks."

"Six weeks?" That was a challenge for the masking.

"Yes, why?"

"Six weeks is the approximate deadline for the last seal to be broken. Fifty-two have been broken already, and Lilith will be redoubling her efforts. Are you really – " Cas backed off to rephrase more tactfully. "Do you suppose that this vacation might perhaps be better timed in March?"

"Well – I know you think they're powerful allies, Castiel, but let's face it, where the seals are concerned they're only fifty-fifty. They saved one and let another go. Humans aren't really supposed to be fighting for the seals anyway, it's angels' work."

"But I thought our superiors had Apocalypse-related work for Dean."

"They do," Zachariah said blandly, and looked at Castiel as if waiting for a follow-up question.

Castiel swallowed the question. Humbly, he said, "The purpose of the vacation, then, is to prove to them that hunting is their proper destiny."

Zachariah nodded, satisfied. "Exactly. I admit, Castiel, this whole – " he gestured – "thing with Uriel has disheartened Dean extremely. To the point where he's seriously considering other ways of life. And of course Sam basically thinks we tried to kill his brother, and his rage is focused far more on angels than demons. This will get them some perspective and let them remember what they valued about hunting in the first place."

Put that way, it wasn't a bad idea, although Castiel wasn't sure that Dean's soul would bounce back as rapidly as his mind might. But Castiel raised a more pragmatic question. "I think it's possible that, if this takes more than a week or two, Sam may begin undergoing withdrawal from demon blood."

Zach's eyes widened. "Good point, Castiel. We hadn't thought of that. Well, let's just layer a fondness for something into his new life, then. Say, a big glass of tomato juice every morning, and we can doctor the container every ten days or so while he's away or asleep."

Castiel's energy shuddered. Jimmy's vessel shuddered, which was partly Jimmy's reaction.

"I know, it's disgusting. But first things first, Castiel. Let's get Sam back on board and reconstruct Dean's morale. Then you can start worrying about weaning Sam off his addiction. And you'll be happy that Ruby won't be influencing him. If he has any memory of her, he'll think it was a dream, and we'll have him so well cloaked that she'll never find him."

"That's definitely for the best."

"Oh, and you'll like this too. Obviously Dean Smith, rising young executive, will never have been beaten to a pulp, so he'll be completely healed before this thing starts."

"He gave permission to be healed?"

"I'm not going to ask," Zachariah said cheerfully. "While he and Sam are asleep and their new memories are being instilled in them, I'm just going to lay hands on the boy and fix him up good as new."

Castiel could practically hear his energy shield slamming up higher as he hid something roiling within him.

"But I'm glad you raised the issue of the seals," Zachariah continued. "I had an idea, and Kosiel thinks it's worth implementing. We're going to assign a pair of angels to study each of the remaining seals, figure out where they are, and then each team will protect its seal from attack."

Castiel looked directly into Zachariah's eyes, and Zach gave him a benign smile.

"I think that's a very good idea," Castiel said. "May I continue watching the seal I discovered in La Lluvia?"

"Of course. But we want you to do more than that, Castiel. We're going to need someone to help Raphael assign the teams, and coordinate their activities and all the information they discover. I want you to be that coordinator."

Castiel was floored. "That's – a – very responsible position. I thank you."

"You're welcome. And since it is a responsible position, you're being restored to your previous rank. We'll assign you an aide, and you'll report directly to me."

"But Raphael – "

Zachariah chuckled. "You leave Raphael to me. I've always done exactly what my superiors wanted exactly when they wanted it. Raphael knows I've busted my butt for him, and he'll listen when I tell him that we need you back where you were. Do you understand, Castiel?" His eyes narrowed slightly and his gaze locked with Castiel's. "When you work within the system, you can actually get things done."

He understood Zachariah's point, although he'd need to ponder it later. But for right now, if favors were being handed out, he wanted to get in a bid.


	8. Chapter 8

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc._

.

"I appreciate – I very much appreciate your intervening with Raphael on my behalf," Castiel said. "I would be willing to forgo my promotion, though, if you would intervene with him on behalf of Anna. She saved my life, she saved the lives of angels Uriel would have killed in the future, and she stopped Uriel's conversion work. I think – I think it would reflect well on Raphael if he were to lift her death sentence."

"Yes. I know you discussed this with Michael as well. Raphael has already considered the question, Castiel. He doesn't feel that he can simply let Anna go unpunished for rebelling and falling. But he has commuted her sentence from death to two weeks in the Chamber."

"I see."

"Yes, she'll suffer terribly, but it's better than destruction."

And because he really wanted to make an effort at working within the system, Castiel looked into Zachariah's eyes and said, "Yes, it is."

Zachariah smiled. "I'm going to supervise the Winchesters' vacation. With the new project and your own seal, you'll have plenty to do for the next few weeks. When the boys are back to hunting, Dean will be your charge again. Oh, and if – just by any chance – you should happen to see Anna, emphasize Raphael's leniency to her. See if you can't get her to turn herself in."

Castiel didn't bother calling Anna with the good news. For one thing, she clearly had high-placed allies in Heaven who could tell her; she'd got a vessel that was an exact duplicate of her human body somehow.

For another, he couldn't say he thought the news was good. He'd seen, over the course of millennia, a few angels who had spent more than ten days in the Chamber. They emerged alive, obedient, and utterly without initiative or ideas of their own. It was years before they were good for anything but following a direct order exactly as they were told to follow it, and they were never fully themselves again. Of course, in most cases this was a good thing – whatever had caused them to endanger Heaven obviously needed to be changed. But he couldn't see that it would be justice for Anna.

Of the 71 angels Raphael had found to be worshiping false gods, only 33 (including the Gabriel worshipper) had repented and accepted their Chamber sentence. The others had defiantly accepted destruction, apparently considering themselves martyrs; many had given passionate statements about their love for Lucifer before being killed, and Castiel wondered if they really thought Lucifer might have made a similar sacrifice for them. Perhaps they didn't care. Perhaps Lucifer filled such a void in their spirits that they would rather die for Lucifer than imagine a universe without their worship of him.

Or perhaps they were simply more frightened of the Chamber than destruction. In the increasingly large part of his mind he was keeping constantly shielded, Castiel held the hope that his superiors would never manage to lay their hands on Anna.

.

It was a shade more than three weeks before Sam Wesson announced his resignation from corporate life by smashing his telephone, as if it were a malevolent spirit, with an iron fireplace poker. On the same day, Dean Smith rejected his office-with-a-view, Cadillac health insurance plan and generous bonus in favor of an utterly uncertain future hunting, of all ridiculous things, ghosts. Satisfied, Zachariah restored their memories, gave Dean a brisk lecture about appreciating the good things in his hunter's life, and put them back on the road with their battered wardrobes, worn duffel bags, and the $36 and seven phony credit cards they'd had between them when they'd arrived in Cheyenne. Dean muttered that the Impala smelled like angels as they sped out of town. Sam was anxiously checking his cell phone messages and didn't hear him.

During those weeks, and for a week or so thereafter, Castiel and Raphael organized Heaven's seal protection teams. He assisted those teams who needed to do research, and fought in nine battles. They almost halved the rate at which Lilith was breaking seals, but since she needed to break relatively few now, every one lost was a bitter defeat. It was going to be a very tight race at the finish; Castiel wished he could know the exact date and time of their deadline.

He was keeping a close eye on the Athens Declaration Church, but things seemed calm there, and he indulged a brief hope that Lilith's chance to break that seal had passed.

He also kept an eye on his charge, but time constraints forbade personal visits until the night of February 1st. The teams were functioning well on their own, La Lluvia was quiet, but he was sensing melancholy and tension from Dean. So he appeared in the Winchesters' motel room.

Dean had been sitting on the bed drinking a beer. The bottle flew to one side and Dean had his hand half under his pillow before he realized who it was. "Jeez, Cas! You couldn't just appear outside the door and knock?"

"You would still assume it was a demon knocking, would you not?"

"Probably. But then I wouldn't wind up wasting a perfectly good third of a beer." As Dean said this, he discarded the bottle, got a towel from the bathroom, and dropped it on the beery spot on the carpet.

"Where's Sam?" Castiel asked.

"Why? Got another trip to Never Never Land scheduled for us?" Dean turned off the TV, got another beer from the tiny refrigerator, and sat on the bed again.

"No. You seemed disquieted, and I wondered if Sam's absence might explain it."

"Don't you know where he is?"

"I can follow Sam to a meeting with Ruby, but if I haven't been following him she can cloak their location. I could penetrate that cloaking, but it would take enough time that Sam would probably have returned on his own by the time I found him."

"Yeah – you may want to not be here when Sam gets back, by the way. He's royally pissed about missing three weeks of his Lilith hunt."

"And you?"

"Yeah, I'm pissed." But not royally so, by the low hum of his energy. "Jerk a guy around, convince him he's got a whole different life – plus that boss of yours has eyes like a dead fish."

"He truly felt it was the best thing for you after – given the circumstances."

"'The circumstances' being that Uriel played you guys for fools, snapped me back into torture mode, almost killed us and made Sam go psychic superpowered? Your boss figured the best cure for that was to turn us into office drones for three weeks?"

"He felt it might help you appreciate the relative significance of what you do, even if – "

"Even if it sucks rocks sometimes. No, you know, I did get it. But tell him, just a PowerPoint presentation next time."

Castiel smiled very slightly.

Dean looked rueful. "PowerPoint. I'm still talkin' like that guy. Hey, sit down. Have a beer."

"No, thank you." But he did take a chair.

"So. How's the war on emotions going?"

"Well, thank you. And yours?"

Dean looked a little surprised, then grinned. "Gotta have the right allies," and he took a drink. "How's the war for the seals going?"

"We have dramatically slowed Lilith's progress. We cannot be over-confident, of course, but I believe we will prevail."

Castiel hadn't realized how badly Dean needed to hear that. Relief radiated out from him, although all he said was, "Good. Glad to hear it. 'Cause, you know, I enjoy a good fight. But human beings versus Lucifer sounded like Gallipoli."

Castiel heard the words, but also felt the energy vibration beneath them. "You don't fear dying. You fear returning to Hell."

"Wouldn't you?" A flash of anger, then Dean was insouciant again. "Just don't tell Sammy. He already thinks I'm turning into a weakling. I'm invoking angel-client privilege."

Castiel allowed the severity he felt to show a little in his voice. "If your brother doesn't fear Hell, that reflects far more on his intelligence than on your strength."

"Hey, Sam's damn smart! He's just – obsessed."

There was a moment's silence.

"In any case, you need not carry that burden," Castiel said. "I can think of at least three reasons why you will not return to Hell."

"I like redundancy. What are they?"

"First, you fulfilled the terms of your contract. Your contract provided that Sam would be brought back to life and that you would live for one year after his resurrection. In return, you would not try to get out of the contract, and your soul would go to Hell upon your death. You fulfilled those terms. You were brought out of Hell through no machination of your own. Unless you make a second deal, or commit a heinous sin without repentance, Hell has no claim on you."

"Sound legal reasoning." Dean sounded almost casual; his spirit was singing. Castiel was sure that Sam, the former pre-law student, had made that argument before, but perhaps hearing it from an angel gave it extra credence.

"Second, Lilith held your contract, and she will be destroyed before the year is out. I don't know when or how; she's an extraordinarily powerful demon, as you know. But she has focused all of Heaven's wrath upon herself. I don't know what the plans are, but I know there are two of them, a primary plan and a backup plan. Even if – our Father forbid – Lucifer does rise, Lilith will not live to celebrate her victory long."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer gal. And the number three reason why Dean Winchester won't go back to Hell is – "

"I will not allow it."

A spark of joy flickered at Dean's core and grew. He met Castiel's gaze, and the two looked at each other silently for a moment.

There was a wail from La Lluvia.

"Thanks," Dean said quietly.

It wasn't Martha, it was Lorraine; but there was something about the emotion that was qualitatively different from Lorraine's usual jagged brokenness. And Castiel was going to take no chances with any seal at this point.

"You should understand," he said, looking pointedly at Dean's beer bottle, "that you have numerous allies."

He stood as Dean gave a mischievous grin and took a big swallow of beer. Castiel was doing an excellent job of masking the spark of joy in his spirit answering Dean's. "I must attend to another responsibility."

Dean swung his legs off the bed. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No. I appreciate the offer, though. We will tell you when your assistance is needed."

He arrived invisibly in Lorraine's bedroom just as she was sitting on her bed. She dropped a small card to the floor, taking a shuddering breath, and buried her face in her hands.

Daringly, he materialized, took a step, and touched the top of her forehead. She dropped back onto the bed, deeply asleep, never having seen him.

He picked up the card. It was small and stiff and had "Rain Florist," with a logo of a bunch of flowers, printed on the top.

A man's handwriting was on the card. "K – Thanks for 'fun & more.' You don't know how much I needed it. Again? Soon?"

Lorraine had dropped the card on a jacket that was lying on the floor. Castiel tried to add up these disconnected pieces.

Then he remembered Lorraine talking about Katie's amnesia: "She gave me back a jacket today that she found in her closet, and she didn't remember she'd borrowed it from me two weeks ago."

That was why Lilith had been so willing to abandon the field when he confronted her. She had borrowed that jacket from Lorraine, put the card in it, and returned it to Lorraine. From there it was just a matter of waiting for Lorraine to pull the jacket out of her closet and put her hand in the pocket.

Clearly Lorraine had recognized the handwriting, and clearly it was Stephen Mahon's. What wasn't clear was whether Lilith had actually gone to the trouble of seducing Mahon (which probably wouldn't have been that much trouble) and collecting something compromising from him, or whether Lilith had simply forged Mahon's handwriting.

Either way, this was a setup for bloodshed. No one knew whether "A knife thrice dipped in blood" meant the same person stabbed three times or three different people stabbed. But if Lorraine decided to end this Sunday's service by taking a knife to Mahon, Katie, and herself, that would certainly break the seal.

That explained why Lilith had let her host live. If Katie was alive, that was one more person for Lorraine to vent her rage on.

Castiel sat in a straight-backed chair, watching Lorraine sleep, looking at the card and jacket on the floor.

He could simply remove Lorraine's memory of the previous night and take the card. If he'd known for sure that there was only a day or two left before Lilith's time was up, he'd have done that. But two or three weeks left Lilith ample time to possess another vessel (or even the same one) and stir matters up in La Lluvia some other way; this time she might be more subtle, and might not let the vessel live. If he knew where the trap was set, he could watch all parties involved and know what the issue was.

He checked on all three of them from time to time throughout the night. When Lorraine left her apartment early in the morning, filled with angry determination, Castiel followed.

However, since Mahon's house wasn't hallowed ground and there were no knives in sight, Castiel merely watched from outside the building as Lorraine slapped Mahon. Hard. Twice.

Mahon was staggered in every sense. "Honey, what is it this time?"

She simply extended the card, holding it in front of him until he took it. Mahon blinked a couple of times, shaking his head, as if he couldn't understand what it was. The act was pretty good, but Castiel knew he'd recognized it the moment he'd seen it. The angel had a brief unwelcome flash of Mahon's memory, and was sorry he couldn't reveal to Mahon what his bedmate actually looked like.

Lorraine was in no mood for even a good act. "Don't even try. I know. I know your handwriting."

"Honey, it isn't even signed."

"Fine. I'll go show it to Martha Tyler. What do you want to bet she recognizes the handwriting?"

"Wait – wait – " Lorraine grabbed for the card and Mahon grabbed her arm, and there were flares of deep fear and rage in him. "Honey, wait. Please. Look, it was – You got so angry about me wanting someone else to handle the Bible study. I was – You –"

"The minister has led Bible study at this church for years. You told me you agreed to do it when you accepted the position here. You told me you'd be happy to do it if I came to the classes. You told – "

She covered her face with her hands suddenly. Shame was flooding her.

"You told me you wanted me so much that you couldn't do your job. I thought it was me! So stupid! I thought you wanted me – "

"I did, honey. I do, I want –"

She was crying. "If I just – if I just quieted your lust, you could be such a wonderful minister, the shepherd our flock needs. You could, you could have been so good. I love you so much."

He pulled her close to him, one hand on her back, one hand caressing her hair. "I do. I love you, Lorraine, you know I do."

"Once you'd been here long enough, once it didn't look like you just came here to get a wife and maybe leave again, we could have – " She pulled away from him, wiping her face, suddenly dry-eyed. "And you never meant that either, did you? You were never going to marry me. You didn't even want me. You just wanted sex. Me, Katie – Who else?"

"No one, honey."

"Who else?"

"No one else! You screamed at me about the Bible study! I ran into Katie and she was feeling down and she – it was just – we were just going to cheer each other up, Lorraine, I swear. Just be – a comfort to each other, and it just – She really kind of came on to me, and I know it was – "

Lorraine slapped him again. "Don't you blame this on her! Don't even try! You're a minister! You're supposed to fight those temptations! Or did you tell her that your desire for her was pulling you off the path, too? Or – "

"No, I – we – "

"Or did you just tell her that you were sick and tired of your crazy lunatic – "

"No, Lorraine. I didn't."

Her face had changed; she was withdrawing. "Not even your crazy girlfriend. I was never a girlfriend to you. I was just your whore."

"I never thought of you that way, Lorraine. Never."

She looked up at him, suddenly almost calm. "No. Call it what it is. I whored myself out because I love you and I love the church. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

He actually was a little remorseful. "You're not going to Hell, Lorraine." And as she clutched her head with both hands, "You're not."

"How would you know? Your close relationship with God?" She gave a broken laugh that turned to tears again. "You sat there and talked about sacrifice. Meanwhile I sacrificed my virtue because I thought it was important. Thought you were important. And it was just – It made me feel important. That was all. It was just vainglory."

"It was important to me. It is important to me."

"I don't know what to do." She turned as though for the door, turned back to him, turned to face a direction that wasn't either. "I don't. I don't know what to do."

"Forgive me, honey. Please. I can be the kind of minister this church needs. You know I can. Please forgive me." Mahon was speaking softly, but his fear felt like a shriek in Castiel's mind.

She looked him in the eye. "I really do love you so much."

He took a step, enfolded her gently. She yielded, then pushed away.

"Yeah," she said as quietly as he. "That always shuts up the crazy lady, doesn't it?"

She headed for the door, and Castiel felt a flash of such violent rage from Mahon that "Cass" almost made a timely entrance. Mahon didn't move, though, and choked down the emotion well. "Lorraine. Please stay."

She shook her head, opening the door. "I need to think. I don't know what to do. I need to think."

Castiel stood outside Mahon's house, stretching his energy out in both directions. It was instructive. The "crazy lady" was actually rather calm, as though Mahon's betrayal had confirmed something for her – though Castiel feared that what had been confirmed was a sense that she was a loathsome person unworthy of love. Still, she drove steadily, wiping tears off her face from time to time, keeping a good eye on the road.

Mahon, supposedly the stable one, was in a full-blown panic – swearing, throwing things, finally dropping onto the sofa with his hands on his knees clenched into fists so tight that they must have hurt, staring straight ahead.

Lorraine was headed to work. Castiel sensed that Katie was at the restaurant also. He followed Lorraine there and watched her carefully. She was abrupt and cool to Katie, which hurt the other girl's feelings, even though she was used to Lorraine's mood swings. He could also tell that, although Lorraine was angry with Katie, that anger was swamped by her sense of betrayal by Mahon and hatred of herself. Katie was in no danger from Lorraine, at least for now.

A few hours into Lorraine's shift Cass was seated at her station and had dinner while trying to engage her in gentle, optimistic conversation. She yearned for his reassurance, then shut herself down; she wouldn't let herself be comforted.

He followed her home, wings pulsing strongly but silently as he tracked her spirit. She was remembering her parents, but mournfully, like memories of childhood happiness irretrievably lost. When she got home she returned a call from Martha, admitting that she was having a bad day but saying she didn't want to talk about it. Martha cheered her a little by discussing upbeat church news, made Lorraine promise to call her if she had another bad day. Then Lorraine began reading her Bible, but, worn out by work and emotion, ended up lying on the sofa, clutching the book as a child might a stuffed animal in a time of crisis. When she dozed off, Castiel touched her and gave her sound sleep.

He stretched his energy out to sense Mahon, then snapped his focus to the human.

He'd known that Mahon was two towns down the freeway from La Lluvia, drinking, his mind spinning. But suddenly Mahon's thoughts had taken a desperate turn. Although Castiel could sometimes get very clear images and sounds from people's past lives, he could not specifically read thoughts that had not yet become actions. But he could read emotion and something of intent, and certain kinds of intent are very distinctive.

Mahon was sitting in the corner of a dark bar that lurked between a payday-loans place and an empty storefront. He took a deep pull on his drink, and when he looked up Cass was standing before him, smiling slightly.

He handled it well. "Cass, isn't it? It's good to see you."

"This is an unusual venue for you."

Mahon smiled jovially. "Tough day. You know, I'm not a drinking man. But we could all use something to relax us a little occasionally."

Castiel simply looked at him, continuing to smile a little.

Mahon gestured to the other side of his booth. "Have a seat, let me get you a drink. Sweetheart?"

That last was directed at a tired looking middle-aged waitress who deposited a couple of drinks two booths down before walking over.

"What do you want?" Mahon asked.

"A Jack, I believe."

"Jack Daniels for my friend, and another of these for me."

As she moved off, Mahon looked ingratiatingly at Cass. "I was making visits. Sick people, grieving people. I saw this place on my way home, and I'm afraid the church ladies wouldn't approve, but – you know how it is."

"I do. You are concerned that I will tell members of the congregation you were drinking in a bar, so you are attempting to imply that any disapproval of mine would mean I am effeminate."

Mahon would have probably been less startled if the sentence hadn't been delivered in such a bland tone. He stared at Castiel for a moment, then broke into sudden sharp laughter. "No sir. I wouldn't say effeminate. Not the way that the women in the church react to you. You could pretty much have your pick." He took the last drink of his Scotch. "But you're better off without 'em."

Castiel cocked his head. "You sound as though you have difficulties with a woman."

"Oh, yes. Difficulties," Mahon said with a sudden vicious bitterness. "Life-ending, career-ending difficulties. Why should she have so much power – "

He broke off as the waitress approached with their drinks. Both of them thanked her, and as Mahon paid her she watched Castiel pick up his drink. "Are you an artist?"

After a moment, he realized that she was talking to him. "I am not."

"I just wondered. You have hands like my ex. He's an artist." She gave a brief smile and "Thanks" to Mahon before she left the table.

Mahon gazed at him with a slight smile. "You're a mysterious character, Cass. You know, I don't think I've ever heard what business exactly brings you to this area?"

"That's because I haven't told anyone."

"Do you mind if I ask?"

"No. I do not, however, promise to give you an answer."

Mahon gave him a shifty looking smile and took a big gulp of his fresh drink, reacting to it and taking a deep breath before he said, "The kind of business that's nobody's business?"

"You could put it that way, if you like."

"I don't suppose – You don't, you know, know people?"

Castiel took a moment to sort that out, then said simply, "I know people."

Mahon took another drink. "I need to do something, or get something, get something done, and I just – maybe I Tivo 'CSI' too much, you know? But I feel like this should be, I should have, this should be a professional. A professional's job."

"You have work for a professional."

"Yes. Exactly. Do you know the kind of people – or, I don't know, can you take care of a problem yourself?"

"I help many people with their problems."

"Yeah, but this kind of – I'm not talking about fixing a traffic ticket, you know."

Cass simply looked at him with mild curiosity.

Mahon looked around as if checking to be sure no one was near them, looked at the table, took another drink, looked up at Cass without quite meeting his eyes. "There's this woman. She's insane. She's going to make all kinds of claims about me, I know it. She's going to get me fired, and I can't lose another post. I'll be bagging groceries or something. I can't. You take advantage of a man's weakness and then ruin his life, it's not fair."

"And your solution?"

Now, interestingly, Mahon met his gaze. "I need you to get rid of her. Can you do that?"

He had wanted Mahon to state his intention, clearly and unequivocally so there would be no pleading of a misunderstanding later. All the same, Castiel reeled a bit. He'd seen a lot of violence and violent intent down through the centuries, of course. But it never failed to stun him that someone could propose the destruction of another life and of his own soul with a few words delivered almost casually.

"I'll pay you a thousand dollars. Fifteen hundred. I'll pay you fifteen hundred to, you know, kill her."

"Would you suggest the use of a knife?"

Mahon shot another look around the bar, laughing a little, held up his hands. "Hey, I'm not going to tell you how – You're the one who knows." He wrapped his hands around his drink, leaned forward and looked up at Cass. "I will say this. This particular gal, if it looked like suicide, no one would be surprised. There probably wouldn't even be an investigation. You wouldn't even have to leave town."

"Ah," Castiel said.

He looked around the bar, blurring the memories of everyone there – which, in the case of the patrons, was no strain on his powers. Then he touched Mahon's forehead with two fingers.

Darkness, openness, and sudden chill. The profound silence of a starlit night.

"Crap!" Mahon whispered. "Crap! What is this? Oh, God!"

"You are not to use that name again in that way," Castiel said.

Mahon obligingly said a four-letter word. "Where is this? What happened? What did you do?"

"We are in the desert 20 miles outside of La Lluvia, several miles from the nearest road."

"How did you – What – This is insane! I'm hallucinating!"

"You are not hallucinating. Normally, I would have consulted with my superiors if there had been some question as to what should be done. In some cases I would be told that this must play out, even to the destruction of a woman's life, a church's trust, and your soul. In some cases we would have interceded in more subtle ways, with a hint to the police or a well-timed automobile accident. But these are extraordinary circumstances. I cannot let this play out, and I do not have the time for subtlety."

"What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?"

"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel said. "And you, Stephen Mahon, are an unrepentant sinner."


	9. Chapter 9

_ The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode "The Monster at the End of This Book."_

.

He let a little of his real form shine, more than he'd shown the arsonist in the French forest. It was a strain on his vessel, but could be healed later, and it was painful and terrifying to Mahon, who made a strangled sound and collapsed without even trying to run.

"Do you understand how close you are to death? And how close your soul is to Hell?"

Mahon was whimpering. "Don't – don't – "

"You took advantage of your position as a minister to sexually use a young woman whom you knew to be emotionally ill."

"I didn't! She told me she loved me! I just – "

"You took advantage of your position as a minister – "

"All right! Yes! I probably shouldn't have!"

"You sexually used another young woman, another of your congregation, and intended to continue doing so."

"You don't know – Maybe I – I don't – "

"You plotted the murder of Lorraine Williams."

Mahon threw his arms over his head. "Oh, God. I'm sorry! I repent! Please don't kill me!"

Castiel pulled back fully into his vessel and took a breath or two, watching Mahon cower.

"If I destroyed you now," he said informatively, "without orders, I would probably face a slight disciplinary action. Whereas you would be facing slavery and torture until such time as you repented."

"I do repent! I'm sorry! I do!"

"You don't know the meaning of the word. True repentance would mean that you would understand the pain you inflicted on another, without self-justification; that you would deeply desire to atone for the wrongs and repair the damage that you did, even at the cost of deprivation or humiliation to yourself; and that you would carry the regret for the pain you caused close enough to your heart that you would not again cause that kind of pain. True repentance requires empathy. It is powerful enough to release a human soul from Hell." He sighed a little, and Mahon dared to look up at him. "Unfortunately, torture doesn't teach empathy. It teaches terror and rage. So it is a very rare human soul that escapes Hell through repentance."

Silence fell between them, and a coyote cried in the distance.

"What do you want me to do?" Mahon asked quietly.

"You will telephone Lorraine tomorrow. You will use your histrionic abilities to convince her that you are deeply sorry for having hurt her. You will tell her that you are entering a period of celibacy, because you intend to focus on the church's needs rather than your own. You will thank her for her goodness to both you and the church. Repeat these instructions."

"Call Lorraine tomorrow and apologize. I'm going to be celibate for awhile because I need to focus on the church's needs. But thank her for being so good for me and the church."

"You will then do exactly as you said. You will focus on being the best minister that you can be to your congregation, and you will engage in sexual activity with no one else."

"…Ever?"

"In a month I will return with further instructions. What those instructions are will depend largely upon how well you have carried out these instructions."

Mahon nodded.

"You will not see me, but don't believe that I will not be following your actions carefully. If you even think of harming a fellow human being again – "

"I won't!"

" – you will see me again, and I promise you will wish you had not. I am capable of visiting terrible retribution upon humans like you."

Mahon drew his knees up to his chest. "I wasn't always – like this, you know. I really wasn't."

Castiel cocked his head, looking directly at Mahon even through the desert darkness.

"It's true," he said after a moment, "that ten years ago you would have been shocked to learn that you would someday be contemplating murder. But, although you have in some ways enjoyed the feeling of helping others, your primary concern has always been yourself. The winter coat drive in high school that attracted the admiration of a cheerleader. The fund-raiser that got your name in the newspaper. And in recent years, your own gain has been your sole motivation. I can see no charitable or selfless act you ever engaged in for its own sake, secretly or allowing others to take the honor."

"Well – but nobody does that! Even if they don't say it, everyone's out for something!"

Castiel could have cited dozens of more mundane but no less virtuous examples, but when Mahon said that, what sprang to the angel's mind was Sam and Dean Winchester, refusing to leave a town scheduled for destruction, fighting terrifying creatures on the town's behalf, driving away as anonymous strangers in a nice car. "No. Genuine altruism exists. Because it is not in you doesn't mean that it does not exist."

After a moment, Mahon said, "So – if I do the things you said to do – "

"I will not destroy you. But your own thoughts and actions have damned your soul. Whether you achieve salvation will be entirely up to you."

He touched Mahon's forehead and sent him to a spot eight miles from his home. It would be hard for him to write the whole thing off as a dream the next day if his feet and legs were sore and his shoes and pants were covered with desert sand and road dust.

Mahon kept his word and called Lorraine shortly before 10 the next morning. Cool and brusque, she wouldn't let him talk, but finally agreed to meet him at the church at 6:00, or as soon thereafter as she could get off work. Mahon was quiet and industrious at work, fear still dominating his spirit. Martha seemed surprised at his silence, and suspicious; her doubts about Mahon had grown these last couple of months.

Cass had lunch at the restaurant where Lorraine worked and talked to her a little. Her energy was sad, but she was willing to smile at a friendly remark. She'd decided on something; Castiel couldn't tell if it was that she was going to tell Martha about Mahon or simply break up with him. He'd need to keep a close eye on the minister – some people really would dismiss a warning from an angel if they were enraged or panicked enough.

Katie came on duty two hours before the end of Lorraine's shift. She was troubled about something, but seemed pleased when Lorraine apologized for her churlish behavior the day before. Katie didn't tell Lorraine what was bothering her, and Lorraine didn't tell Katie why she'd been angry; on the contrary, Lorraine hugged the other girl and told her how much she valued their friendship.

A couple of hours later, Castiel had listened in on a conference between Martha, Mahon, and the youth minister about church business. As he liked to do when he was in La Lluvia, he checked other places for any sign of demonic influence. He was checking out cattle in distress (non-demonic, just a sick cow) when Zachariah called him urgently.

Castiel met him on a tiki-torch-lit patio overlooking a huge green lawn that sloped away into the encroaching darkness. "You know the prophet, Chuck Shurly?"

"Yes. He's been writing the story of the Winchesters' lives as a series of lurid novels, which will eventually – "

"That's the one." Zachariah was in a hurry. "Your boys stumbled across the books. Of course they don't realize he's a prophet, they think he's psychic, but they're still both upset."

"I suppose that was inevitable – that they should have discovered the books, I mean."

"And that they'd be upset," Zachariah said. "But Dean's a little past upset at this point. Shurly has accurately predicted every move they've made today. And he had a vision of something occurring tonight and told them about it."

"He shouldn't have done that."

"You think? Especially when the vision involved Sam Winchester reclining on a bed with Lilith."

Castiel hesitated; angels almost never misspeak. "Do you mean with Ruby?"

"No, Castiel, I mean seal-breaking, baby-murdering, first demon, Lucifer's pet Lilith."

Castiel effectively masked how cold he went inside. "Is Sam lost, then? Has he turned completely?"

Zachariah shrugged. "Who knows? You know these prophetic visions. A lot of times they bear more than one interpretation. Unfortunately, Dean doesn't know that, and he's – "

" – terrified for Sam. Which means he's angry."

"Sam refuses to leave town, says he's going to wait in their motel room and kill Lilith."

Castiel raised and dropped his hands, a gesture of exasperation.

"And Dean is sitting in Chuck Shurly's living room, filled with rage, waiting for Shurly to come home. If that fool attacks a prophet, it's possible that Raphael might forget how important Winchester is. So if you could cool him down – "

"I'm watching a seal, which I believe is about to reach a safe conclusion, but I'd like to keep an eye on it."

"The preacher with the crazy girlfriend in La Lluvia? You managed to cool that off?"

"I believe so, but the two are meeting tonight – "

"Well," Zachariah said, "I could tell that Dean wasn't thrilled with me after his alternate-reality vacation. You go stop him from attacking the prophet before Raphael kills him, and I'll baby-sit the seal. But hurry! You know Raphael!"

Castiel did, so he went immediately to the prophet's house, and with no time to spare: Dean was grabbing Chuck by his shirt front, slamming the mouse-like writer into a wall, yelling, "How the hell are you doing this?"

"Dean, let him go," Castiel said even more loudly than Dean.

Dean actually let him go, turned and saw Castiel. "Why?"

"He's a prophet of the Lord."

That astonished Dean enough that Shurly was able to slip away from the hunter. Once he was over his surprise (and contempt), Dean finally accepted that Chuck was indeed a prophet, even as the said prophet grabbed a bottle and glass and scurried up the stairs.

Knowledge brought Dean back to his original fear. "How do we get around this?"

"Around – "

"This Sam-Lilith love connection. How do we stop it from happening?"

In a way you had to admire Dean, who always felt there was something to be done, whose vocabulary did not include the word "resignation." On the other hand – what part of "prophet" did he not understand? "What the prophet has written cannot be unwritten. As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass."

"I thought they promoted you back up in the ranks again. Do you still have to mouth the destiny-can't-be-changed party line crap?"

"I am simply telling you the truth. A prophet is made privy to what is going to occur. There may be more than one interpretation – "

"To hell with this," Dean said, and stormed out of the house.

Theoretically, the prophet was now safe; but Castiel knew Dean was perfectly capable of pretending to leave, waiting until he thought Castiel had gone, and then returning to try to shake the vision out of the prophet's head, or something similar. So Castiel followed Dean back to the motel, where Sam was waiting, with both terror and arrogant pride, for Lilith.

Sam refused to leave, and Dean's fear took on panic proportions as he argued with Sam, then left the hotel room. Castiel didn't really understand why. True, Sam had allied himself with a demon in a female vessel and was having sex with her. But Ruby had saved Sam's life and been of assistance to him when Sam's brother was dead and in Hell.

Lilith had presided over Dean's death and damnation. Surely Sam wouldn't forget that. But apparently Dean was convinced of this as he stood by a soda machine outside the motel and prayed – roughly and somewhat ungraciously, but prayer nonetheless.

"Prayer is a sign of faith," Castiel said, appearing behind Dean. "This is a good thing, Dean."

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

_No, because enough angels have destroyed themselves with flagrant shows of free will lately. Heaven is just beginning to recover, and I'm going to work within the system at least until the recovery is complete._ "I'm not sure what I can do."

"Drag Sam out of here, now, before Lilith shows up."

_So that she and Sam can bed down in whatever town I take him to. _ "It's a prophecy. I can't interfere."

Dean pleaded. He was almost in tears, and Castiel had to guard his emotions rigidly. Then Dean threatened – "If you don't help me now, when the time comes and you need me, don't bother knockin'." It was the best thing he could have done, since it was an argument Castiel could present as an excuse for having helped Dean.

But with every excuse in the world, Cas still didn't know how he could help. At some point Sam would be in a room with a bed, and while Castiel might be able to keep Lilith at bay for awhile, he couldn't stay with Sam forever. The only reason he was here now was because Dean had been rash enough to threaten a prophet, and Zachariah was afraid that –

"Dean!" Castiel called.

Dean stopped walking away. Castiel turned to face him, and he could feel the muscles of his vessel's face relaxing as he did so. "You must understand why I can't intercede. Prophets are very special, they're protected."

"I get that," from Dean, but Castiel kept talking: "If anything threatens a prophet — anything at all – an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce, they're absolute. They're Heaven's most terrifying weapon."

There were angels who believed that the Winchesters divided neatly into a brains-and-brawn team; that Sam carried the intellectual weight without brute force, while Dean was essentially a muscular lug – a righteous lug, but a lug nonetheless. Those angels had never seen Sam fight, and had never seen how fast Dean picked up on a hint. "These archangels are tied to prophets?"

"Yes."

"So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon – "

Castiel allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. "Then the most fearsome wrath of Heaven would rain down on that demon. Just so you understand – " he glanced up quickly – "why I can't help."

Dean's energy filled with relief. "Thanks, Cas."

"Good luck," Castiel said, and Dean ran for the Impala.

How he would get Chuck to the motel room, Castiel didn't know, but doubtless Dean would manage it.

He should go with Dean, to make sure that fetching the prophet didn't mean damaging him. But he also wanted to stay, because a soldier angel would be a fool to miss the chance to confront Lilith. It was maybe a once-a-decade chance to know in advance where she –

There was a scream of fear and horror from La Lluvia.

It was Martha Tyler.

Torn, Castiel stood in place and checked Lorraine's energy. He could feel nothing but the same calm, sad resolution he'd felt from her earlier.

Zachariah was watching the seal. Surely –

He couldn't sense Mahon's energy.

A fresh burst of horror from Martha, and the acrid terror of personal danger. Castiel fled.

He was pulled from his path at the last moment, landing outside the Athens Declaration Church when he knew Martha was inside. Zachariah held up one finger. "Wait."

Castiel stared at Zachariah and stretched his senses inside. " – don't want to hurt you, but you can't stop this until it's finished," Lorraine was saying in an even tone.

Mahon was lying dead at the end of a trail of blood. Apparently Lorraine had stabbed him in the throat and dragged his body to the altar. Martha stood shaking at one end of the altar, looking at the cell phone near Lorraine's feet, applying pressure with her right hand to the bleeding wound on her left arm. Lorraine stood behind Mahon, still holding a gore-drenched knife.

"The knife has been dipped in blood twice," Castiel said fast. "We – "

"Calm yourself," Zachariah snapped in a warning tone. "I want to hear this."

"He betrayed you, the whole church," Lorraine said in a sad, distant voice. "He betrayed me. And because I love him, I betrayed the virtue God gave me. Atonement has to be made. A sacrifice has to be made."

"No," Martha said with desperate calm, "no, it doesn't, Lorraine, truly. You've been, you've been hurt, but there's no reason to – "

"The seal will break!" Castiel shouted.

"Wait! That's an order!" Zachariah shouted back, and from thousands of years of discipline, Castiel hesitated.

And Lorraine plunged the knife into her own stomach.

She gave a strangled cry of agony and collapsed. Martha lunged for the cell phone and shouted into it, "Are you still there? Did you hear that? She stabbed herself!"

They must have been listening, because sirens were pulling close.

Castiel stared at Zachariah, curling his hand to receive the angel-killing sword from his sleeve.

"I know that was hard for you," Zachariah said. "You deserve an explanation."

Lorraine was thrashing on the floor behind the altar giving quiet whimpers of pain. Martha was trying to keep her from rolling over onto the knife. A fire-and-rescue unit was barreling down the block toward the church.

"Come," Zachariah said. "You'll see why this was for the best."

"Best for Lucifer."

"No. Best for Heaven, I promise." He decamped to his vessel's office.

EMTs were running up the front steps of the church, and other sirens were wailing nearby.

Castiel followed Zachariah. It was late and the building was almost empty.

"I didn't want you to witness this, Castiel," Zachariah said. He was standing in front of his desk and Castiel stood before him, absolutely still. "I thought surely Dean Winchester would keep you occupied longer than he did. But maybe it's just as well. You've seen what you think is the worst, and now I can tell you why it's for the best."

Castiel stared at Zachariah, the sword burning in his sleeve.

"Whatever you're planning," Zachariah said, "at least let me tell you the truth about what's happening before you do it."

He sat in one of the comfortable chairs reserved for visitors and turned on a lamp. Castiel stood unmoving, looking down at him.

"Right now you're wondering how I escaped Raphael's investigation." Zachariah paused as if to wait for confirmation; Castiel gave him only silence. "Yes. Well, the answer is that I haven't turned, I want to see Lucifer utterly destroyed, and what happened just now was the will of Heaven."

Castiel unlocked his jaw. "And by 'Heaven,' you mean – "

"I mean Michael and Raphael."

If he hadn't had so much practice hiding his feelings lately, his shock would have been obvious. "You lie."

"Now, Castiel. You know I don't."

And indeed, Zachariah's spirit was more open and unshielded than Castiel had ever known it to be. And he was telling the truth.

"What would be the best thing that could happen to Earth?" Zachariah asked. "The best thing for the humans you love? The thing that would allow our angels to stop eternally battling?"

"The final defeat of Lucifer." And then it hit him, hard. "You want to bring on the Apocalypse."

Zachariah nodded, his face serious, watching Castiel.

"You want Lucifer to rise."

"Only way he can be defeated, once and for all. Get that vicious little traitor out of his nice warm cage and onto Earth in a vessel. Then let's see how he and his pathetic minions handle the full wrath of Michael and the forces of Heaven. Paradise, Castiel. The goal we've aimed at for so long."

"The Earth will be severely damaged."

"We'll fix it."

"Millions of humans will die in the crossfire."

"Not more than a billion, according to our projections. You have to think long-term here, Castiel. And not even very long-term. In a hundred fifty years, every human being now living will be dead anyway. And all of them and all of their children and all of their descendants will have spent their lives struggling against Lucifer's temptations and the deprivations and cruelties humans inflict on each other for his entertainment. Or. A percentage of them – a large percentage, I grant you – a large percentage of them will die now, and the remainder of them will live in Paradise. They and all of their descendants will live on a beautifully restored Earth, free of temptation and cruelty, their lives guided and their decisions gently made by the wisdom and care of Michael and Raphael. They will be at peace. We will all be at peace."

"I had thought – I had thought that free will was a gift given by God to humans, as both an expression of love and a kind of test."

"Really?" Zachariah peered up at him with a smile. "Did God tell you that Himself?"

"Of course not, but – "

"Of course not. Because God hasn't spoken directly even to the archangels for – well, for a very long time."

He had begun to believe that already, of course, but within the confines of his emotional barricade, there was shock, fear, and sorrow.

And also anger, though Castiel's voice was quiet. "Angels have been sent to the Chamber for saying that."

Zachariah's gaze shifted, and he sighed slightly. "True. Regrettable but true. But what else could they do, Castiel? You tell me. Not everyone has the spiritual strength that you do. Even with Michael insisting that God is guiding every decision, we found seventy angels – seventy! – worshipping Lucifer. Can you imagine the number of converts that bastard would have made if Michael had told the truth?"

Castiel gave a deep sigh. He sat the chair facing Zachariah, his shoulders slightly slumped. "When did our superiors decide to – to allow the Apocalypse?"

"When they realized what Lilith's and Azazel's plan for John Winchester was. We think – it's still speculation, you know – but we think Azazel had a plan in place for breaking the final seal, and that was why he fed Sam Winchester his blood. It must have struck him and Lilith as funny to use Sam's father as the Righteous Man who breaks the first seal. Our superiors decided that, if they were so dead set on the Apocalypse, we would simply let it happen, knowing that we'll win. John didn't break before he escaped Hell, of course. But then Dean sold his soul, and – well – a righteous man spilled blood."

"What – why – Forgive me. It's a great deal to encompass. What does Sam Winchester have to do with breaking the final seal?"

"'It is written,'" Zachariah quoted, "'that the first demon shall be the final seal.'"

"Lilith? Lilith herself is the last seal?"

"Exactly. In order to break it, you have to break her – kill her. Well, Castiel, you know yourself how hard that is to do. You came closer than anyone's come in centuries, and you told me yourself that you barely fazed her. We think that something gave Azazel the idea of combining human and demonic strength to create someone strong enough to do the job, so he took to feeding a few drops of his blood to human infants. Most humans aren't strong enough to deal with that, of course – Azazel's 'special children' who didn't self-destruct killed each other. But Sam Winchester? Strong to begin with, and then the way John raised him? Azazel used to drool over the boy. I have it on good authority that Azazel was infuriated when Sam died, and when Dean sold his soul to bring Sam back – red-letter day on Azazel's calendar."

"Sam is waiting for Lilith right now."

"I know. It'll be interesting to see what happens. She's tried to kill him using demonic power before, you know, and couldn't – he's too strong. But at the same time, I don't think he's strong enough to kill her yet. How that ends up with them in bed together, I don't know. I'd think they'd just spit at each other for a while and then go their separate ways."

"Until Sam is strong enough that Lilith will allow him to kill her?"

Zachariah grinned sourly. "I'm sure she figures that as soon as Lucifer has all the power of Heaven under his heel, he'll bring her back."

"So." Castiel sat back, took a deep breath. "It will be war."

"But you'll notice that we haven't forced any of this. Did we make Azazel and Lilith obsessional about raising Lucifer? Did we feed Azazel's blood to Sam? Did we force Dean Winchester to damn himself and torture souls in Hell? Did we make Lilith break seals? Did we tell Sam it would be a great idea to drink demon blood? Even the individual seals themselves. That distressing event a few minutes ago – did we force that lunatic to refuse psychological help? Did we persuade that womanizing hypocrite to sleep with two members of his congregation? Did we kill him – or even put the knife in the girl's hand?"

"I see. You simply allow others' decisions to have their natural effects."

"Precisely. Sam wants more than anything to kill Lilith, the demon who held the contract on Dean's soul. If he does it, Lucifer will rise. Lilith wants more than anything to cause Lucifer's rise. If she does it, Lucifer will be defeated and destroyed once and for all."

"And the moral is," Castiel said, "be careful what you wish for."

Zachariah chuckled.

"I have only one concern – "

"Dean," Zachariah said promptly with a knowing smile. "I didn't lie about that, Castiel. He has a very important role to play, although I'm not authorized to discuss it. But believe me, Michael is personally going to take very very good care of him. So no matter what wretched horrors erupt, Dean will be fine."

"Sam has willingly turned himself into a far worse abomination than Azazel ever did, but at the same time, if Dean is to function optimally, Sam must live. Once he has killed Lilith, can any measures be taken to save Sam?"

A weird glint of humor came and went in Zachariah's eyes. He seemed to grow thoughtful for a moment, then said, "It's an interesting thought. He _is_ important to Dean. I'll ask about it, Castiel, see what I can do."

"Thank you," Castiel said.

Zachariah sat back, steepling his fingertips, studying Castiel. "As you say, it's a lot to encompass in one evening."

"It's distressing to consider the destruction. At the same time – to achieve Paradise. To have it finally resolved, once and for all."

"It's amazing to consider, isn't it? And who knows, Castiel, maybe this is what God has been waiting for. For angels who have the balls to bring on the Apocalypse and impose Paradise. Maybe then He'll start making the decisions again."

"That would be – " Castiel's breath caught. "I would very much like to help make that happen."

"You've always had a deep love for the Father, haven't you? Not just a determined obedience, but a real love."

"Yes. I have."

"It makes you trustworthy. If I told this to most angels of your rank or lower – well, we don't need to be fighting a civil war and Lucifer at the same time. But you understand the importance of doing God's will, even without His instructions and even if it's distressing." Zachariah spread his hands. "Any questions?"

"No. I believe I understand."

"Well, I have work to do, and I'm sure you do as well."

Castiel stood. "I want to thank you for trusting me with this information, Zachariah. It means a great deal to me that you feel me to be worthy of such trust."

_It means a great deal to me_, he thought once he was well removed and well shielded, _because I'm going to need all the information I can get if I'm going to foment a rebellion against Heaven's leadership in the next two weeks._


	10. Chapter 10

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode "The Rapture."_

.

He had moved past his sorrowful disillusionment at Heaven a month ago. Now he was angry.

The sheer, violent, uncaring arrogance of it. Allowing the rise of God's enemy because you're sure you can beat him. Shrugging off the deaths of a billion of God's children as a side issue to the war you want to fight. The certainty that you cannot possibly lose.

And the removal of the free will God wanted his children to have! Castiel may never have spoken to God, but he knew that God intended for humans to have free will. It was one of the fundamental tenets of Heaven – or had been. It was in their resistance to and rising above the evils sometimes wrought by free will that humans rose to their greatest height. Angels were magnificent creations of love and light, power and obedience, and Castiel was proud to have been made that way by God; but in humanity's unbelievable complexity, their range of choices, inventiveness, and variety of responses to both good and evil, God had achieved His masterwork.

And Zachariah had tried to convince Castiel that whitewashing over that masterwork was God's will.

He hoped he'd played his reluctance and eventual agreement well enough. It didn't matter too much – Zachariah would keep a suspicious eye on Castiel anyway – but a convincing display of obedience might get him more information.

All the information in Heaven, however, wouldn't help unless the revolt had a leader who was a credible rival and successor to Michael and Raphael. He began thinking about the qualities such a leader would need immediately, because he'd have to contact that angel before serious organization started. Obviously, an unwavering faith in God would be necessary, as well as the willingness to rebel – it would be hard to find that among beings whose _raison d'etre_ for millennia had been obedience. Battlefield experience would be ideal. But mostly, the leader would have to be an angel with the ability and purity of spirit to inspire loyalty in angels of similar capability and integrity.

And, of course, they'd need a leader courageous enough to fight an archangel.

He prayed for guidance and help, then began thinking of names. Zachariah would have him watched, so he'd need to be gradual and normal in his approach to potential leaders. He wanted to tell Sam immediately not on any account to kill Lilith, but it would be impossible to start a revolt from inside the Chamber. Lilith's deadline was very near, and without a change in Heaven's leadership, she'd meet it. He had a great deal to do, and perhaps only two weeks to do it.

.

Lorraine had hit an artery when she stabbed herself; despite the EMTs' best efforts, she had bled out by the time the ambulance reached the hospital.

Even as he planned a Heaven-shaking rebellion, Castiel attended the funeral of a lonely deranged human in a small church surrounded by tabloid photographers and television news vans.

Lorraine's parents were even now in shock, staring at a coffin draped in pink roses as though they couldn't understand why they were at a stranger's funeral. Castiel sent solace energy to them, even knowing how little it would help. Katie saw him after the service, tried to say something, and could only lean against his arm, crying like a child.

Martha Tyler didn't cry; her pain went deeper than that. Her spirit had been shaken by the horror she had witnessed, and she would never be quite the same person.

"I wish I had listened to you better when you warned me about this," she told Cass quietly.

"I can only repeat what you said to me. This was not your fault. I know you tried to reach her in any way she would allow. You could have done no more."

_I could have done more,_ he thought, _and I obeyed an order instead. That will not happen again._

He realized why he hadn't sensed murder in Lorraine's mind that day. She had said it herself in the church; to the depths of her tortured soul, she believed that what she planned was not murder or suicide, but a necessary sacrifice to atone for sin. He had sensed resolution, but not murder. It made sense.

Many things made sense suddenly. Zachariah's apathy about seals being broken. The organized effort to stop Lilith, which made the lower-level angels feel like something was being done, but which was begun only after more than 50 seals had been broken. Heaven's insistence that Ruby be kept alive to continue strengthening Sam's demonic aspects.

The prophecy involving Sam and Lilith had actually not turned out to reveal anything terrible about Sam. Failing to kill Lilith with demonic power in the motel room, he'd pretended to be seduced into a deal with her, so that he could get close enough to her to grab the demon-killing knife from a bedside table. Lilith had fought him off and was trying to use the knife on him when Dean had burst into the motel room with the prophet Chuck. The prophet hadn't been in the same room with an angry knife-wielding demon for ten seconds before Raphael had announced his advent with light that pierced every chink in the motel's walls and thunder that cracked the plaster. Lilith had fled from her host promptly.

"Then comes the weird part," Dean said cheerfully, stretching his legs out from the outdoor bench near the library where Sam was researching something. "Sam gets down from the bed to see if the host's OK, she wakes up, and the first thing she does is slap him."

"That's unusual," Castiel said. He was standing stiffly beside the bench.

"Unusual? Try unprecedented. You know, demons usually use their hosts pretty rough, so the host usually dies after the demon's exorcised, but even then, if they have time to say anything, it's usually 'Thank you.'" And when we can exorcise, or the demon just leaves, and the host lives? They're so freaking grateful, they'll take any advice to keep from being possessed again."

"But not this time, I gather."

"Chick sits up, looks at all of us, and says, 'You assholes, what did you do to her?' Then she graduates to really creative swearing while we're trying to explain that, you know, we saved her life. She doesn't see it that way. The way she sees it, this was the only time in her life she had the power and excitement she feels like she should have, and we just ruined that for her."

"She sounds like she has chosen evil in her life before."

"Sam thinks she's a sociopath. Anyway, she wouldn't let us drive her anywhere, stomped out of the motel on foot, probably calling Lilith to come back."

"Well, if Lilith does possess her again, at least you'll have the advantage of knowing what she looks like."

"That's what Sam said. Chuck said it would be a darkly ironic twist to the story. My feeling was, it's a waste of a hot babe. But I s'pose it's just as well. She'd probably stab you in your sleep if you pissed her off."

Castiel nodded.

"Are you OK?" Dean looked up at him, squinting slightly into the sun. "You seem even more like a rock than usual. I don't mean dumb. I mean, you know – "

"Working to stop the Apocalypse is occupying a great deal of my attention."

Dean nodded. "For what it's worth, Sam's really mad that he couldn't kill Lilith."

"Well. All will happen at its appointed time."

Dean looked at him disapprovingly. "Or when we damn well decide to make it happen. You know, we might just make it up as we go."

Castiel smiled tolerantly. "I don't expect you to understand destiny, Dean. But you sound like you're in fighting form, and that's always a good sign with you. I just wanted to check on you. If you need nothing, I'll be about my other business."

"Like seal defense? You take care, Cas."

"You take care as well, Dean."

Now, that sounded like an adequately distant conversation between angel and charge, Castiel thought. He was definitely being spied on. He hadn't used his grace to find out where exactly the spy was, what guise he or she had assumed, because if he'd done that the spy would have known Castiel was looking for him; but there had certainly been a hidden angelic presence nearby.

He had to take excruciating care to contact potential soldiers and leaders of the revolt. He spoke only to those whom he knew would be appalled if Heaven's leaders were deliberately allowing the Apocalypse to happen. He came up with a cover story as to why he talked to those angels, approaching the topic gingerly, making certain that any second or third meetings weren't spied on, shielding each step of the way. He didn't dare speak to the Winchesters again too soon, but he desperately wanted to warn Sam against killing Lilith.

He had the opportunity within the week. Sam and Dean had discovered that they had a half-brother, sired several years after their mother's death when the brothers and their father were hunting together. Then they had discovered that before they even had the chance to meet their half-brother or their father's lover, both had been horribly murdered by ghouls. Dean's irrational sense that his father had cheated on their mother, his envy of the normal life his half-brother had led, his discovery of the mutilated corpses, were boiling in his dreams along with memories of Hell.

Castiel stood by Dean's bed, trying very passively to see if there was another angelic presence nearby. He felt none; but if there was anyone, it would seem clear why Castiel was entering Dean's dreams. Dean's face muscles were twitching and his breathing was ragged.

Castiel slipped into the dream, stood behind Dean and made lucid-dream suggestions until Dean was sitting in a comfortable chair on a dock, fishing in a pastoral pond.

He stretched his grace out just a little. No spy was evident.

He approached Dean without fanfare and quietly stood beside him on the dock, wishing he didn't have to dash the peace from Dean's expression.

"We need to talk."

Dean looked startled, then disappointed. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"It's not safe here. Someplace more private." Castiel conned the dreamscape as he spoke.

"More private? We're inside my head."

"Exactly. Someone could be listening."

Dean looked up at him. "Cas, what's wrong?"

Castiel handed him a slip of paper. "Meet me here."

Movement by the plants fringing the pond caught his eye. A brown rabbit with beady black eyes froze as Castiel looked at it, then dashed into the underbrush. It was probably a creation of Dean's subconscious, responding to Castiel's tension. Probably.

"Go now," he said, and woke Dean as he fled.

Within twenty miles of the motel where the Winchesters were staying, there was an old factory. It had descended to the level of a sweatshop and, after successfully bribed inspectors had been arrested, it had been closed down. An illegal immigrant had died here of an asthma attack in filthy stifling air. The residual energy of the place was miserable, clotting and fatiguing to an angel's spirit – but it also hid an angelic presence well.

Using the angel killing sword, he cut his vessel's upper forearm and painted a large angel-banishing sigil high on one wall with the blood. He wanted to do another, but decided to wait a few minutes while he replenished Jimmy's blood supply. He replaced the sword in his sleeve and waited behind a pile of wooden pallets, not because they would hide him from angels but because he could blow them out in all directions if need be. He hoped he wouldn't need to fight at all, but he would prepare every non-lethal defense mechanism possible.

He prayed that he wouldn't have to use the sword. He'd never killed a fellow angel in all of his existence as a soldier – not even during Lucifer's rebellion. But he steeled himself for the possibility that he might have to do it. A billion human deaths, an unnecessary war that might kill thousands of angels, massive destruction of God's favorite planet, the removal of free will from humans. He knew what he was fighting and how desperate the fight might be.

He might have little time with the Winchesters, so he mentally organized the priority of the things he wanted to tell them. First: Lilith is the final seal and Sam must not kill her. Then, if they hadn't been interrupted: Heaven's leaders are conspiring to allow the Apocalypse, and while he had several strong allies, they were few in number and he might need the Winchesters' help. Then: If anything happened to him, they should summon Anna and ask her to find Rachel. Rachel felt unqualified to lead the revolt, but she had a fierce sense of right and wrong that had earned her the nickname "Little Raphael," and she would fight anyone at all who was conniving at the Apocalypse. Rachel could put them in touch with the others Castiel had contacted. After that –

"Castiel! Thank the Father that I found you!"

It was Ephraim, an angel from Castiel's garrison, in the vessel of a casually dressed young man who wore a silver cross over his T-shirt.

Castiel hesitated for only a second. "Ephraim. You seem quite emotional."

"Forgive me, but this matter is urgent. Zachariah sent me to ask for your immediate presence. He has discovered that there is a plot against Michael."

"I am certain that Lucifer plots against him constantly, and further certain that he is no match for Michael. Why is this plot more important than averting the Apocalypse?"

"I don't – I don't know, Castiel. I am of lesser rank. I only know that Zachariah is so concerned that he sent me to seek you out personally. He needs to meet you with the greatest secrecy and urgency."

"I am guarding a seal that is in grave danger. Please make my apologies to Zachariah, and tell him that I will attend upon him as soon as it is at all possible."

Ephraim drew a deep breath, then seemed to give up, exhaling it in a sigh. "There is no seal here. And if there were, you know perfectly well that there is no need to guard it."

"How could you, Castiel?" Isabel, wearing a professional-looking woman in a pants suit, stood by an office on the floor above, where supervisors had looked down onto the factory floor. "How could you choose humans over the Host?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You were going to tell the Winchesters about the plan to bring about Paradise."

"What were you thinking, Castiel?" Ephraim asked. "Were you thinking that two humans could thwart God's will?"

Within the container of his shielded emotions, Castiel felt a cool wash of relief. They thought that his greatest crime was that he was going to tell the Winchesters about Heaven's collusion in the Apocalypse. That meant the Chamber for himself; but Rachel and the others were safe, if he could keep Raphael from examining his mind.

"I am willing to die, as all of us are, to bring eternal peace to Heaven and Earth," Castiel said. "The Winchesters may be humans, but they are warriors nonetheless. If they are to die, they should be told in what cause."

Isabel shook her head. "This is what Zachariah told us. That you were blurring the lines between human and angelic in your thought."

"Please surrender yourself, Castiel. Your sentence is short. Zachariah simply wants you to put emotional distance between yourself and your charges. Why do you have such pride, to feel that you should be different from all other angels in this regard?"

Ephraim wasn't lying, Castiel could tell; he had only been sentenced to a short period in the Chamber, or at least that was what Ephraim had been told. But Castiel needed to fight the breaking of seals for two weeks – just to be on the safe side – and he had a rebellion to organize. He couldn't afford to spend one hour in the Chamber, nor however much time it might take to recover.

"Have you given no thought – " Castiel began, then spun and struck the angel who'd been sneaking up behind him.

Ephraim leaped forward. Castiel seized the third angel, Xavier, and flung him into Ephraim, then jumped toward the wall with the angel-banishing sigil.

With screeching metal and a roaring crash, Isabel brought down the side of the upper floor over the sigil. Beams and ductwork fell between Castiel and the sigil, then a cascade of cables and filing cabinets.

Ephraim grabbed Castiel in a chokehold. Isabel began speaking Latin, a chant Castiel had never heard before. Xavier tried to grab Castiel's arms, but too late: Cas struck backward sharply, smashing Ephraim's nose, as he kicked Xavier in the gut and freed himself.

Sparkling motes of energy were forming in the air over the fighters as Isabel chanted. Whatever that was, it wasn't good. Castiel flung some of the wooden pallets upward at her as he unsheathed his wings and flew toward the sigil.

With a thunderous impact that shook the building, Xavier uprooted machinery bolted to the floor and flung it at the sigil. The wall and sigil cracked.

He couldn't banish them harmlessly. They'd left him no choice. He slid the sword from his sleeve, faced Ephraim and Xavier, and brought down a live electrical cable on Isabel.

Isabel flew to one side. Her vessel's voice staggered to a gasping, grinding halt for a moment; then she continued, grasping the railing above the factory floor, choking out Latin words. There were more pinpoints of energy above them now, and bright filaments were beginning to connect them.

"Leave now," Castiel gasped, "and I'll spare your lives."

Ephraim and Xavier exchanged a glance. Then Xavier flung himself to the floor. "Isabel, cover!" Ephraim bellowed.

Their vessels could bear being in the presence of angels in true form – obviously – but the shock wave of one angel leaving a vessel might actually damage the others. Castiel realized what was happening, whirled, and dove for cover. There was a blinding flash of light and the concrete floor shuddered as Ephraim left his vessel.

Xavier would be next, and the sword wouldn't work against angels in their true form. Castiel cast the sword under some of the fallen debris, where he could find it later. Then he left Jimmy, fleeing to another end of the building, flinging machinery as he went.

The connected flashes of energy, now clearly a net, raced across the building above him, shorting out and exploding the swinging, clashing work lights.

Castiel ran into Ephraim. Another boom shook the building as two beings of pure energy collided and struggled. Xavier, now in his true form, pulled Castiel back, away from Ephraim. Then, suddenly, he let Cas go.

The energy net fell on Castiel alone. In his true form he didn't experience many physical feelings, but this felt like a thousand sharp stings in every part of his being. And it paralyzed him.

Isabel left her vessel and the three servants of Zachariah soared to Heaven with their prisoner.

.

There were no trials in Heaven. Since Heaven's leadership was, by definition, righteous, anyone who went against their will was, by definition, guilty.

Castiel was dragged to a gray room and left in the paralyzing net while his captors assumed human forms. They were like the form he had assumed to go into Hell – useless on Earth, but perfectly mobile and sentient in the spirit realm. A fourth such form, a nude male, lay face down on the floor like a discarded doll. Enochian symbols were tattooed across its back, ensuring that whatever spirit occupied that form wouldn't be released until the right words were spoken by someone else.

Ephraim and Xavier forced Castiel into the empty human form. The lashing stings of the net hurt far more when he had physical nerve endings, but he was still paralyzed and couldn't even groan in pain. He prayed for strength. They threw him into the center of a circle surrounded by Enochian symbols and stood back as Isabel began chanting again.

The very ether within the circle began thickening, the greater density muting light and sound. It was happening above him too, the gray ceiling being covered over by clustering darkness.

Suddenly the net was removed and he gasped in relief. He could barely hear his own gasp, barely see Ephraim and Isabel and Xavier standing outside the circle.

The last sight he saw, the last words he heard, were Ephraim snarling, "Too good for him." Then there was utter darkness and silence as the walls of the Chamber closed around him.

Suddenly, movement. The Chamber began tumbling him, side over side as if he were rolling down a hill, head over heels, every angle between. He was not slammed against walls as this happened; it was like he was packed in something thick and soft preventing sensation.

When the tumbling stopped he was suspended in this softness, not knowing whether he was lying or standing, which way was up or down. But a far worse sensation set in.

He was isolated.

The low thrum of other angels' energy, the spike or song of an occasional message of urgency or joy, had been a part of him since his creation. He took it as much for granted as a human takes the involuntary reflex that makes him breathe.

It was gone. There was only profound silence where that connection had existed – no sense that other angels existed or had any idea that he himself was alive.

He reacted as a human might react if he suddenly had to think about breathing: He panicked. He tried to stretch his grace beyond the confines of this body, he gasped, he screamed just to hear something.

He could only barely hear himself. The stuff filling the Chamber that kept him from feeling and seeing also muffled his own voice to a whisper.

He fought his own panic, willing himself to stillness. He hummed. The vibration inside his own head was the closest he could come to the feel of angelic connection.

There were tears in his eyes. He was ashamed of himself for being so hysterical so fast, but he had never expected this. Angels who'd been in the Chamber weren't allowed to discuss it – and didn't seem to want to, anyway. He had expected pain, humiliation. He never expected his connection to the rest of God's creation to be utterly severed. He wouldn't have thought it was possible.

This was what Rachel and his other co-conspirators would go through if they were ever suspected. He prayed for all of them.

Prayer helped. He had never had direct "conversation" with God, but the sense of communion couldn't be kept out even from the Chamber.

Calmed somewhat, but still humming, he began to explore the Chamber as best he could. Suspended in soft stuff, utterly unable to see, unable to tell what was floor or wall or even if they existed, it was hard to explore. By making swimming motions and rolling he could try to find the limits of the soft stuff, what boundaries marked his confines and how they might be opened.

Except that there weren't any. No matter how far he went, which direction he stretched, there was no end to the muffling density that surrounded him.

He persisted in this for a long time, inventing new ways to move within the packing. He even tried to "surprise" the walls by floating still for a long time and then moving as far and as suddenly as the packing would allow.

Finally, he realized that there were no walls. The prison wasn't physical, it was composed of energy. And without any way to exert his own energy, he was completely trapped.

He wondered if other angels' energy could reach in without his sensing it, if someone was watching his powerless naked human form thrashing and sobbing and humming in here.

"Allowing the Apocalypse is doing Lucifer's will!" he shouted. Whispered.

There was no response. But he found it oddly comforting to imagine that someone was listening to him. He yelled defiantly for quite some time about the wrongness of doing what Lucifer wanted.

He grew weary of hearing the sharpness and shrillness of his own voice. He began to explain instead. Surely that would be more convincing, in any case.

He explained why Michael and Raphael were wrong to assume that God's lack of communication meant God's apathy. He explained how humans should have the free will God wanted them to have. He talked about Dean Winchester, his struggles, his courage, his protectiveness toward his brother and other humans, his humor. Castiel tried to demonstrate how this complex creature was an example of God's handiwork at its finest, flaws and all, not some kind of blunder on God's part.

He talked about pulling Dean out of Hell, what that had been like, how proud he had been to be a member of the team that had made the rescue possible. He admitted that he bitterly missed that sense of comradeship. He talked about Uriel's betrayal, Anna's courage, Amenerat's despair.

He grew angry again, talking about the seal he had so carefully guarded and then let go because of one snapped order from Zachariah. He relived again that moment where he could have saved the seal, could have saved Lorraine, and let it go. He pleaded with whomever might be listening not to make the same mistake.

For no reason he could think of, he began to talk about his past, battles in which he had taken part, people he had observed. He spoke wistfully about missing Gabriel, sorrowfully about Lucifer's rebellion.

But between each story he was pausing for longer periods of time. And in those pauses the silence was complete.

There was no one listening.

He was utterly alone, floating without sight, without sensation, without any sound but what he made himself.


	11. Chapter 11

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode, "The Rapture."_

.

Well, if he could make his own sound, surely he could exert his energy enough to make a little light. He tried that for quite some time, trying to work through his eyes, his fingertips, his vessel as a whole. He tried to force light out from himself in a burst; he tried focusing on the idea of light, building it within himself, and slowly persuading it outward from his mind.

He couldn't do it. His grace was securely bound in the human form. It kept his form from starving or thirsting to death, as a human would have. He didn't know whether it was preventing him from going blind or completely disabled, as a human body would have in these circumstances. But he did know that he couldn't project his energy out of this form in any way. He'd spent a lot of time trying.

How much time, he wondered. There was no way to measure time's passage.

But thinking of disability made him realize that this form was capable of something. He could exert his muscles. Castiel had never heard of self-resistance exercises, but he invented them then and there. He exerted his arm muscles by pressing the palms of his hands against each other; he tried to straighten each leg while grabbing the sole of his foot with his hand; he stretched and pressured every muscle he was aware of. Without a solid surface to brace himself against, it was hard to exercise vigorously, but it was better than nothing.

He was astonished at how good it felt. When he grabbed the sole of his foot there was a jolt of pleasure along the arch that was almost erotic. (He gasped at how good it felt, then remembered when he'd noted humans sucking in their breath that way at a touch; that was how the word "erotic" occurred to him.) It suddenly struck him that, although he surely had less need for sensory stimulation than a human would, within this vessel that need was clear.

He developed a routine. He exercised. Then he would stimulate himself mentally with lists – places in the world where he'd been, names of all the angels he'd met personally, the names of God in every human language. Then he would rub his skin vigorously from head to foot. Then he would pray. Sometimes, he thought, he slept – it was hard to tell.

He had to force himself through the routine eventually. It was hard to see the point. The isolation was harrowing, crushing. He found himself drifting without thought, almost without hope, for long stretches of time.

Had Michael and Raphael really been so evil, that it was worth going through this to defy them? The longer he was severed from the angels, the more brilliant and beautiful they were in memory.

But – a billion human deaths. Angels dead in a war that could have been prevented if Heaven's leadership had wanted to prevent it. And always the question – What if the leadership was wrong? What if Lucifer actually won?

He found himself humming again, drifting, thinking of times when he'd been certain, and it was such a blessed feeling to be certain –

Something stung his left calf. He was startled, then almost enthralled. He was feeling something! Something was coming to him from outside!

He could see it too, steady motes of light around him, more stimulation –

Pain. They had somehow thrown the net around him in the Chamber, scorpion stings lancing his vessel's flesh. He thrashed in desperation, trying to escape the pain, but it wrapped him easily and no matter how he struggled the burning shocks cut into him.

Suddenly, he thought: The net paralyzed me. How am I struggling?

He lay still, thinking, and the pain let up, then disappeared.

He'd heard of this. When a human body went without sensory stimulation for long enough, it would create its own stimuli through hallucinations. He was a little surprised that it could even happen to an angel in a human form, but he guessed it had taken him longer to begin hallucinating than it would have taken a human.

He certainly hoped so. But of course, he had no idea how long he'd been in here.

A short sentence, Ephraim had said. Of course, that was before he'd threatened Ephraim and Xavier with the angel-killing sword. But maybe they didn't know what it was.

Didn't know what what was? He'd been thinking about something –

A short sentence. What was Zachariah's idea of a short sentence?

Light. A slit of light opening to his right. He almost didn't want to turn his head and look directly at it for fear that it would disappear. But he did look, and saw Zachariah's face, in the midst of a square of light, as though he'd opened a door to look in at Castiel.

"He's not quite done. He needs basting," Zachariah said, and the light and the angel vanished at once.

All right, that was strange. You'd think that if your mind were going to come up with hallucinations, it would come up with exciting or enjoyable ones.

He wondered if this was what dreaming was like for humans. They invested so much effort in analyzing or divining the meanings of dreams, and now it made sense to him. If these images were being created by his own mind – why the net? Why Zachariah? Why the baking metaphor? If the hallucinations were directly from God – Well, the same questions applied.

Humans. So wonderful in so many ways, so horrific and destructive in others. They really did need guidance. Lorraine was before him with a bloody knife and she was pointing it at herself and he did nothing, no one did –

He flinched. She disappeared.

His breath was staggered. He would never forgive himself for obeying Zachariah's order.

But Zachariah hadn't plunged the knife into Lorraine, hadn't splattered the minister's blood all over the church altar. A human had done that.

He remembered Michael's leadership, so strong and so sure for so long. Castiel missed his angelic connection desperately. Had he himself ever felt diminished by having his decisions made for him by Michael and Raphael? Had he missed anything because he wasn't a helpless slave of fears and passions?

Would humans?

"We may be murderous thieving bastards," Dean had said, "but you have to admit we invent some cool stuff."

Would that inventiveness be the same without free will?

Would Dean be the same without free will?

He wasn't sure why he bothered speculating. For all he knew, it was all over by now – Lucifer risen and conquered, humans tamed without their tempter and tormentor present. Castiel might step out of the Chamber into Paradise.

And he would have played no part in it at all.

But if it wasn't God's will, then that was just as well, wasn't it?

He shook his head, shuddering. He didn't know how many times he'd argued this with himself now. If he couldn't think of something different, hear something different, feel something different, he was sure he would begin screaming, thrashing, pleading. And when nothing happened because of that – and of course it wouldn't – he didn't know what he would do.

Exercise. Count. Stimulate. Pray. Exercise. Count. Stimulate. Pray. Try to ignore how far away God was beginning to seem. Exercise. Count. Stimulate –

It suddenly struck him that he couldn't remember why he was here.

"You were going to warn me about Lucifer and Raphael taking over the world," Dean Winchester said, smiling at him.

Castiel didn't care if it was a hallucination. It was a friendly face, a friendly voice, something different. "You mean Michael and Raphael. Michael, not Lucifer."

"Same thing for us, isn't it?"

Dean was standing unexpectedly close to Castiel, and his voice was so intimate that Castiel had to ask, "By 'us,' you mean humans, don't you?"

Dean just continued smiling at him. Castiel could feel his own breath speeding up. "Michael and Lucifer are not the same."

"Funny. I'd've sworn you said they were."

"No. They're not. I would never say that."

Dean disappeared.

"I would never say that," Castiel whispered stubbornly.

But in resisting Michael and Raphael the way he resisted Lucifer, wasn't that exactly what he was saying?

Lucifer's goal was the destruction of humanity. Michael's goal was the survival of humanity in Paradise, free of temptations, free of the misery that caused –

Sam Winchester bowed his head to gorge himself on a red stream. Castiel had seen a drug addict die a horrible death once, drugs cut with the wrong powder. He remembered the calm smiling face of a woman who poisoned her husband, the shriek and collapse of the man's mother when she was told. It reminded him of women's screams as they were gang-raped. Screams of soldiers mutilated and dying in too many battles, too many wars to count, an endless cycle of death and vengeance. Fathers –

"I will stop these thoughts," he said aloud. "I will think of something else. I will not see – "

- at gravesites. Parents at the site of a school shooting, praying not to hear what they would soon hear. Children's bones breaking under the blows of those who should have taught them love.

"Father, I pray for your guidance. I am beset with horror and I plead to be led – "

The cracking and rending of the Inquisition victim on the rack. An insane emperor giggling at torture. A serial murderer chuckling over his mementoes.

"We may be murderous thieving bastards, but you have to admit – "

The click of the assassin's weapon. Blood splattered over leather, wood, velvet, stone, concrete, sinking into the ground. Blood on an altar in La Lluvia and a girl barely out of her teens driving a knife into herself.

"Stop! I will stop this! Stop it!"

Michael could stop it, Michael and Raphael. They were humanity's only escape from cruelty and horror, from wrenching grief over needless suffering and death.

"Well, yeah," Dean said, "if all you look at is the bad stuff, it seems like we need archangels to run our lives for us."

Castiel wasn't even surprised at Dean's reappearance. "What's 'the good stuff'?" he snapped, bitterly turning Dean's own phrase. "Guitars and clocks? The joy of a mother before her child is destroyed by addiction? The excitement of lovers before they tear each other apart? It doesn't balance out, Dean. It doesn't even come close."

"How would you know?" Dean was very close to him again, still with a merry insinuating smile. "When were you a parent? When was the last time a friend helped you, not because of an order, just because they wanted you to be happy?" His voice whispered into Castiel's ear; the angel could feel the warm breath of the hallucination. "You've never known what it's like – "

His fingertips touched Castiel's lips. Castiel started, but didn't move away. Dean's hand caressed the angel's cheek, gripped his neck rather roughly and traveled down his nude torso.

It was the most intense experience he'd ever had in a vessel, emotional and physical at once. It felt nothing like a mirage. His skin felt as if it had a life of its own. "We cannot experience those things," he said, and paused as his voice choked off. "We cannot wish to experience them. Anna was no exception. An angel who wants to experience what is good about human life will surely fall."

But he couldn't pull away from the warm sure hand stroking between his legs.

Dean moved even closer, body to body, and whispered in Castiel's ear, "So fall."

Castiel sucked in a noisy gasp, turned spasmodically, clenched his fists. "Go."

The hallucination clung around him somehow and he shouted, so sharply he startled even himself. "Go! Now!"

The image vanished, leaving Castiel alone with a hellish epiphany.

He desired Dean Winchester. In the vilest, most animal way, he desired Dean.

He was as bad as that predatory hypocrite Stephen Mahon. No, Castiel was worse. Mahon was only a human, and Castiel was an angel of the Lord.

He was supposed to be guiding Dean, the firm and objective guidance of a higher being. Instead he wanted to use a far weaker body containing a vulnerable human soul.

And this soul was uniquely vulnerable – tortured in Hell, pursued by its memories even after escaping. Never mind how horrible it would have been if Dean had allowed Castiel to use him sexually out of gratitude. What if he'd done it out of fear? What if he'd felt he had no choice but yielding to the being who once told him, "I dragged you out of Hell, I can throw you back in"?

This explained the knowing look, the near sneer in his smile, that Zachariah had whenever Castiel discussed Dean. Zachariah knew. And if he could see it, so could all of Castiel's fellow soldiers, and his superiors, clear up to Raphael and Michael.

He gave a long terrible cry of humiliation, covering his face as though anyone were there to see it.

And of course this was the motive behind his noble cause – the revolt he'd tricked Rachel and the others into joining. He remembered himself, filled with earnest indignation, going on and on about the evils of doing what Lucifer wanted and human death and angelic destruction, and how human free will was part of God's Plan.

As through he knew anything about God's Plan. As though he cared anything about human free will.

Castiel had been willing to destroy the archangels' plan for Paradise to ensure that one human being would be available to him, unprotected by archangelical constraints. Dean Winchester's soul would have been raped at every level of the spiritual realm, making Castiel the equivalent of Alastair.

Even Alastair had seen it, his sadistic grin curving as Castiel beat him in the devil's trap. "Can't say I blame you. Exciting young man. Isn't he?"

Hell brought endless misery to human existence. Heaven was trying to release humans from that misery. And one disgusting wretch was plotting against the happiness of humanity so that he could take advantage of the misery of one human.

"Dearest Father, please forgive me. Please forgive me. I know what I have done and the destruction I have caused, and I do most sincerely repent – "

He broke off as he remembered himself pompously lecturing Mahon on the nature of true repentance. He despaired for a moment of God's understanding and forgiveness.

Then he began praying again, the same few broken phrases over and over because he was incapable of anything else.

Castiel had proven himself to be a foul bundle of arrogance and lust. His judgment couldn't be trusted ever again. He would follow each order to the letter from now on.

How had he sunk so far, so fast? He had always been fascinated by human beings, and surely, surely this interest was a gift from God. It had made him helpful to Heaven in the past. It was only since he had taken on a physical vessel that he had become disgusting, dangerous. He reviewed the last five months unsparingly, reinterpreting every interaction with Dean.

He prayed almost continuously after that, prayers for humility and obedience and forgiveness. Occasionally he still exercised. The hallucinations still arose, and he had little choice but to tolerate them, unless they were of Dean. Then he fought them unrelentingly.

He was singing a hymn with Uriel when the space around him began to grow gray.

Uriel vanished. Castiel watched the developing mirage with fascination. It was a lighter gray now, and it had been so long since he had been able to distinguish any color at all.

His whole being vibrated suddenly, joyously. He could hear angelic voices, feel angelic presence. His connection with his reality had been restored.

His body had density. It was sinking, the packing that held it suspended slowly disappearing. And the space around him was so light gray that it was translucent, letting in light and color.

He blinked his eyes, which were given strength against the assault of light only by his angelic power. Tears of joy flooded from them at the feel and sound of his brethren.

Something solid was beneath him as his body finished sinking. A floor. He looked down to see Enochian sigils.

And looked up to see a gray room, with Isabel and Zachariah standing just a few feet away.

"You may leave the circle now, Castiel," Isabel said. "It's not a hallucination. You have finished serving your sentence."

He stared at her for a moment.

Then he pushed against the floor to raise the human form. He could tell that only his grace made this possible. He looked at Zachariah. His superior looked even more collected than usual in a charcoal suit, charcoal-and-burgundy striped tie, and a small gold ring on one finger. Isabel was all in white. The colors were stunningly beautiful.

"She's telling the truth," Zachariah said with a little smile. "You can leave the circle."

Castiel took a step or two, still stunned with joy at his angelic connection, marveling like a baby at his ability to propel himself forward.

Then he took a couple of steps in a rush and fell on his knees before Zachariah, his head bowed in shame.

"Please forgive me. Please forgive me."

Zachariah's voice was calm. "Do you give yourself over wholly to the service of God and your superiors?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Repeat it, Castiel."

"I give myself over wholly to the service of God and my superiors."

"Do you swear to follow the will and the word of your superiors as swiftly and obediently as you would follow your Father's?"

"I swear to follow the will and the word of my superiors as swiftly and obediently as I would follow God's."

"Well." Zachariah put a hand gently on Castiel's head, and Castiel looked up at his face. A spark of anger at Castiel's near betrayal still lurked in Zachariah's eyes. "I forgive you. Just don't scare us like that again, Castiel."

He looked at Isabel and nodded. Isabel spoke an incantation. Castiel suddenly felt a rush of power and knew that he could leave this human form if he wanted to.

But he remained on his knees before Zachariah.

"We usually allow a little recuperation time before a Chambered angel goes on duty," Zachariah said. "But I'm afraid we've got an emergency for you."

"I'm happy to be asked. I want – I need to atone."

"It's your former vessel, Jimmy – um – "

"Novak."

"Demons tracked him down. They think he has knowledge of Heavenly secrets."

"He doesn't."

"Of course not, but these are demons, not geniuses. They've possessed his wife and are holding his daughter hostage."

"Amelia and Claire?" Castiel shot to his feet. "I must go now, sir. I gave my word that Heaven would protect Jimmy's family. It's all he asked of me."

"We've got a few minutes. The demons won't kill the daughter until they get their claws on Jimmy, but he and the Winchesters are heading for a rendezvous as fast as that car can take them."

Castiel flinched. "The Winchesters?"

"They were keeping an eye on him, had to kill one of the neighbors when he got possessed and came after Jimmy. They're driving Jimmy to the demon rendezvous now, and of course will try to free the wife and daughter."

"I don't – I'm not – I don't believe that I can be trusted," Castiel had to lower his eyes, "in any matter where Dean Winchester is concerned."

"Well, that was my thought," Zachariah said easily. "But Michael insisted that you be assigned."

"Michael?" Castiel's gaze rose sharply.

"Yes. I've told you how important Dean is to the Plan. Michael wants him very well protected. And since Michael can't show up there in his true form and unleash his wrath on the demons without killing the Winchesters and the Novaks and leveling every building in a quarter-mile radius, he needs someone to protect Dean who can get there and get into a vessel fast. And he felt that your – attachment to your charge made it certain that you will defend him more vigorously than anyone else we could send."

Castiel put one hand over his eyes for a moment, feeling naked mentally as well as physically, even now not certain that the whole thing wasn't a gigantic hallucination. "I – I'm not sure – "

"They're in real danger, Castiel. Four particularly nasty demons. Sam's in withdrawal. Dean is distraught, his energy's all over the map. They're a double murder waiting to happen."

"Why – " Castiel choked off the automatic question, then decided that Dean's protector legitimately needed to know this. "Why is Dean distraught?"

"Well – they found Jimmy, Castiel. He and Sam saw the site, the destroyed site, where you were arrested. He knows you've been taken back to Heaven for correction."

"He's still distraught about that? After all this time?"

Zachariah and Isabel exchanged a glance. "Time moves differently in the Chamber, Castiel," Isabel said. "You were in the Chamber for about four months, which is a sentence of one Earth day."

"One day?"

He tried to grasp it. All that time, the isolation and darkness, talking to himself, thinking, exercise, the hallucinations, the horrible epiphany, all the prayers.

The Lucifer worshippers who'd been sentenced to two weeks would go through that for fourteen times as long as he had.

"Castiel?" Zachariah's voice was patient but had a steely edge. "We need your focus now."

"Yes. Where are they?"

"The demons are in a warehouse north of Pontiac, Illinois, USA. Jimmy and the Winchesters are almost there."

Castiel focused, still not sure if he could vacate the human form, and as a result his extra surge of energy took him halfway to Pontiac before the empty vessel had crumpled to the floor.

Claire was bound to a straight-backed chair under a dangling metal-shaded bulb. She was shaking with sobs that she was biting her lips to repress.

The demon possessing Amelia was standing over the body of a security guard. His throat had been torn; she held a ceremonial bowl full of the guard's blood in both hands, communicating with someone in Hell. There was nothing ceremonial about her tone, though.

"Well, I guess you lost the trifecta, then, didn't you?" she snapped at the bowl of blood. "Lilith's giving me everything I want. Everything. And she doesn't give a damn about the vessel and just wants me to let Sam go. All I need to do is bring her Dean and the knife. So let's see – half the work you wanted me to do, but more reward. Not a tough choice. Some demons know how to pay for value."

The Winchesters and Jimmy had arrived. Jimmy had gone to a different side of the building than the brothers and was standing on trash-strewn ground outside, looking to the heavens and excoriating Castiel. "You promised me my family would be OK! You promised you were going to take care of them! I gave you everything you asked me to give! I gave you more! This is the thanks I get?"

Castiel hovered near the rafters, his light at the lowest possible level, and did nothing.

This had never happened before.

He was frozen.


	12. Chapter 12

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episodes "The Rapture" and "When the Levee Breaks."_

.

He knew that any decision he could make would be wrong. He was foul and unworthy and he desperately wished for a good angel to tell him what to do.

"Yeah, well, go ahead and try that, why don't you?" the Amelia demon said. "It'd be worth going back to Hell just to see what Lilith does to you there. Or you can bite the bullet and pay full price next time. Your choice." With contempt, she flung the contents of the bowl onto the dead guard's back.

Around a corner and down a hallway, a door opened. The Amelia demon put the bowl on the floor and moved into the vast almost empty main room, between the head of the hallway and the chair where Claire was tied.

It was Jimmy. By freezing up, Castiel had lost his chance to talk to Jimmy alone. He couldn't lose another chance. Degraded failure or not, he had to take some action.

He spoke directly, silently, to the girl's mind. _Claire?_

She started, looking over her shoulder. Fortunately the Amelia demon was looking the other way, smiling at Jimmy as she said, "Hi, honey. You're home."

_Don't look around. I am Castiel. I can hear your thoughts, as you can hear mine._

She went still, thinking, _Help us_.

_I will. Drop your head, and close your eyes, as though you had passed out._

She gave a deep shaking breath and dropped her head. Castiel noted that the demons had bound only the girl's torso to the chair, her arms hanging free outside the tightly tied ropes. That was a mistake they'd regret.

_These demons are in human bodies,_ Castiel explained,_ and to fight them I need to be in a human body myself. I need permission to take control of a person's mind and body, and I can't ask your father. The demon in your mother is watching him, and if she suspected something she'd kill him before he could give permission._

"You – you do whatever you want with me," Jimmy was telling the Amelia demon almost tearfully. "But my wife and daughter – "

_If you will give me permission, I can fight these demons through you._

_But you'd, we'd kill Mom. I saw what happened to Mr. Taylor. Those guys had to kill him to get the demon out._

Three demons dragged in the Winchesters; one of the two holding Sam was triumphantly clutching the brothers' demon-killing knife. "Nice plan, Dean," Sam said dryly.

_I won't hurt your mother, Claire. I can trap her and exorcise the demon. If the demon hasn't hurt her body too much, she should survive. It's the best chance she has._

_All right. Yes._

_You must understand. I need a permanent vessel. I will remain in you even after your parents are safe, and we will do God's work together._

". . .picking up empty vessels," the Amelia demon was saying to the Winchesters in a cool snide tone, "sorta like a milk run. Now look who's landed in my lap."

_But Mom and Dad can be together?_

_Yes, and Heaven will protect them. But you will be with me._

_I was kind of thinking about being a nun anyway, _the religious 14-year-old thought._ This would sort of be the same thing. So yes._

"Now for the punch line," the Amelia demon said. "Everybody dies."

Castiel descended with as little glow as possible. No one was looking at Claire, anyway. They were looking at the gun that the Amelia demon was holding on Sam.

Then she swiveled and shot Jimmy in the gut.

As he stood staring at the blood soaking his white shirt just above the waist, he unwittingly kept Claire out of everyone's line of sight.

Then he collapsed, gasping in pain.

"Waste Little Orphan Annie," the Amelia demon said briskly to the largest of the three demons, and walked to an office, clicking open a cell phone as she closed the door behind her. The others couldn't hear the call, but Castiel could: "Tell Lilith I've got them all. Does she really want to let Sam Winchester live?"

The large demon strode past Jimmy toward the chair where Claire had been tied. All that Jimmy could do was follow the demon with his eyes, trying desperately to move. Dean and Sam were struggling, but even the female demon restraining Sam was extraordinarily strong. A heavy metal pipe was propped along one wall, and the large demon grabbed it, took two quick steps to the chair, raised the pipe high and brought it down hard.

It slammed into a delicate uplifted left hand and bent slightly. Castiel opened her eyes, met the demon's astonished gaze, and clapped her right hand onto the demon's head. The demon bellowed as his life force vanished in a flash of orange light.

Even before the demon was dead, Sam and Dean had seized upon the diversion. Dean smashed his captor into a stack of barrels, while Sam struggled for the demon-killing knife with the possessed woman.

With a thought, Castiel broke the ropes binding her. Claire's father looked into her eyes and gasped "Castiel" as she passed, but her primary mission was to protect Dean, who was getting the worst of it in his battle. As she went to Dean she chose the spot where a devil's trap could be carved into the floor using angelic energy; Amelia would be put there for exorcism.

She destroyed the demon Dean was battling. Then the two of them turned to Sam, who was winning – he had the knife, there was blood on the ground near the demon's neck, and Sam had fallen on her.

Apparently, Sam noticed that Dean's battle had gone silent. He looked up and around, savage satisfaction in his eyes and demon blood smeared all over his mouth, chin and cheek.

Castiel could have felt the racking horror in Dean's spirit from much farther away.

Sam turned back, plunged the knife into the female demon with both hands, stood and gave Dean a look in which there was almost no trace of Sam Winchester, then suddenly raised his hand. Dean jumped twice – at that, and then at the sight of Amelia, who'd been creeping up behind them.

There was no coughing, no struggle at all this time. The demon flooded from Amelia's mouth. Sam gave a bizarre open-lipped grin, tilting his head, as the demon smoke pooled on the floor and vanished. Amelia fell to her knees in the midst of it.

Dean knelt beside Amelia but couldn't look away from Sam. Castiel moved over to Jimmy, who was shaking and gasping, and smoothed his hair with her hands.

"Of course we keep our promises," she said gently. "Of course you have our gratitude. You served us well. Your work is done."

She told Jimmy that he could rest now, at home forever in the fields of the Lord, but Jimmy refused, looking into Castiel's eyes and calling for Claire.

"She's chosen," Castiel replied. "It's in her blood, as it was in yours."

Jimmy sobbed. "Please, Castiel. Me, just take me. Take me, please."

Both Castiel and Dean would be safer from Castiel's vileness if Castiel were in this vessel. Even if Castiel gave way to lust, knowing that the 14-year-old virgin in Castiel's mind and the 30-year-old non-pedophile Castiel loved would both be horrified and revolted would keep Castiel from ever expressing her desire.

But she couldn't tell Jimmy that having an angel's energy bound inside of her wouldn't be painful for Claire in many ways; Jimmy knew otherwise. Too, while people could believe, if not understand, that a good God-fearing man might suddenly walk out on his family one day, Jimmy and Amelia would have a much harder time explaining to the world that their daughter had simply vanished.

What decided it, though, was millennia of observing human beings. Because while there were exceptions, frequently terrible, Amelia was not one of them: If she were forced to make a choice between losing a spouse and losing a child, she would keep the child. It was not only a spiritual choice, it was part of the animal in the hybrid creatures who knew they would die and fought extinction with instinctual ferocity.

Castiel had promised that she would protect Jimmy's family. And both Amelia and Claire would suffer more if Castiel were using Claire as a vessel rather than Jimmy.

So she cupped Jimmy's chin with her right hand, stared into his glassy eyes, and let her energy flood from Claire's being to Jimmy's.

He took a moment to readjust, heal his body, glance at Claire to be sure she was all right. The girl was shaking and sobbing, but physically unhurt.

He stood and walked straight toward the door. Amelia passed him and gave him a look as she went to Claire, her energy a mix of gratitude and fury. He stopped between Sam and Dean, because Jimmy desperately wanted a last look at his family.

He looked back at the woman kneeling on the floor, holding her daughter in her arms, consoling her. That child had almost been killed tonight. Three humans who had been possessed by demons lay dead; a murdered security guard lay in a pool of his own blood. Sam had wiped most of the blood off of his mouth and face, but his energy was still throbbing with power of the addict's high and underlying fear of withdrawal.

They were right, Michael and Raphael and Zachariah. Human life needed protection and guidance. What had free will got them? Stronger and more supple minds for demons to corrupt. More and more powerful organizations with which to dominate each other. More and more powerful weapons with which to destroy each other. Time for it to end.

He focused on this as he walked between the Winchesters so he wouldn't be conscious of Dean's closeness. But of course Dean couldn't just let him pass. "Cas, hold up."

His back stiffened, but he stopped and turned. He had to make something clear.

"What were you going to tell me?"

"I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve Heaven. I don't serve man. And I certainly don't serve you."

Dean's energy leaped out at him as he left. Dismissed by the angel who'd saved him, standing beside the brother whose horrific secret he'd just learned, Dean felt desperately alone.

But better alone than abused by something as foul as Castiel.

.

Self-discipline had always been a problem for Castiel – he'd known that even before the Chamber. He asked too many questions, he felt emotion too readily, he overindulged his interest in humans. So he took it as a valuable test when Zachariah gave him an assignment that all of his instincts told him to resist.

Attacks on wildlife around Key West, Florida, USA made it clear that demons were breaking a seal there – specifically one that called for the extinction of ten species in one locale. Zachariah assigned Castiel to observe the attacks and report back when the seal had broken.

There was no reason for this assignment. Angels could track the demons' progress perfectly well from Heaven. Zachariah simply wanted to see if Castiel would be obedient enough to watch Lucifer's work being done without balking in some way.

Castiel assumed that he'd be watched, and he was glad of it. Remaining invisible and quiet as demons destroyed wildlife and a seal was hard, and he feared he would be defiant. But as time went on he became somewhat detached, as though he were watching a hallucination in the Chamber, as though he himself were the spy watching Castiel.

The demon assigned to destroy a particular species of small shrimp was an idiot. (Many demons are, in fact.) After a very short time watching him dash water in great waves and uproot plants, destroying habitat and animals that had nothing to do with the seal, Castiel couldn't take it anymore.

He destroyed the demon. Then he picked up one of the shrimp species and sent a wave of killing angelic energy out to every creature exactly like the one he held. Within a minute, thousands of dead shrimp had formed a loose rolling blanket over water that was still heaving from the demon's violence.

He was an angel who had just helped in setting Lucifer free. He should be horrified, and on some level he supposed he was. But he was also an angel who had just obeyed the will of Heaven, without having to fight either his superiors or himself, and that felt good.

"Castiel." A sweet, strong voice. "It's so good to have you back with us."

He froze. "Rachel."

She moved briskly toward him, smiling. She was wearing a long flax-colored dress that somehow didn't drag through sand or water. "When I heard that you'd been sent to the Chamber, I was so fearful for you. But I should have known – please forgive my emotionalism – "

She put her hand across her eyes briefly, and Castiel could feel the powerful emotional shield she was raising. Then – he started physically, it was such a rare action among angels – she embraced him.

And whispered in his ear, "I know what the Chamber does. Believe nothing you have thought since you went in. You were right."

He went rigid in her arms. "I was trying to foment a rebellion against the leaders of Heaven."

"And you were right."

"You should not be here, Rachel." He pushed her away, but gently. "I am being watched."

"Of course you are. I am the one assigned to watch you."

"And you thought in that way we could communicate about – "

" – the leadership of Heaven, yes." Her emotional shield was still high, and she was clearly choosing her words carefully when she couldn't whisper them with her face hidden against his.

"You should not have listened to me, Rachel. I was defiant and my ideas heretical."

She raised her eyebrows and her lips barely moved, but she spoke one syllable with force. "No."

"You do not know me. If you did, you would know better. I am filled with vice and error, shot through with darkness. I thank Michael that I was stopped in time."

"You are not – "

"One realizes – certain things about oneself in the Chamber, Rachel."

She took a step back, surveying him, and dropped her outward caution (but not her shield). "Even if you were so terrible, do you know what I would say about you? Castiel is filled with vice and error and darkness. But on this issue, the corruption of Heaven and misuse of angelic power, he is right."

He shook his head.

"You can fight this, Castiel. I know you can. You've always been strong. You can regain your sense of right and wrong."

He spoke quietly, but he was breathing heavily. "Rachel. I have not given the names of any of my fellow conspirators to my superiors, partly because they have not asked and partly because I know it was not your fault. I tricked and tempted all of you, and you should not have to suffer for my sin. But if you approach me again about this matter, I will tell Zachariah what you said. If he asks me about what we have been discussing, I will not lie. Stay – " his voice broke unexpectedly – "stay away from me."

She looked at him reprovingly. "Don't over-dramatize yourself, Castiel. You tempted none of us into anything. You told us a truth we already suspected, and we agreed that action needed to be taken."

He started to speak, and she held up a hand. "I will do as you ask. I won't seek you out again. But you will think about what I said. One day in the Chamber isn't enough to completely destroy the essence of an angel like you. You won't be able to keep from thinking about what I said, and someday – someday soon – you will seek me out, Castiel."

.

He gave Rachel plenty of time to make her report to Zachariah, so that he wouldn't meet her at the office. Then he reported.

Zachariah's energy was an incongruous blend of satisfied and unnerved, and Castiel found out why when he discussed the shrimp extinction.

"You know, we weren't – we didn't – I didn't really tell you to assist in breaking the seal," Zachariah said.

"The demon was doing a very poor job of it. I was able to destroy that particular species with no damage to the rest of the area."

"Um. Yes," Zachariah said. "That – I applaud your initiative, Castiel. However, in the future, before you carry out an idea of your own – even if it fulfills an order – you may want to check with your superiors."

"Don't act on initiative," Castiel said. "I understand. I apologize, Zachariah."

"Oh, that's – Well." Zachariah gave a brief grin. "Just glad you're on our side."

Castiel cocked his head. "That was the point of the Chamber. Wasn't it?"

"Yes. You were going to reveal Heaven's plans to the Winchesters. So you see the dangers of initiative."

"Dean has been calling me for several minutes, by the way."

"Not surprising. While you were observing the seal today, Dean and his friend Singer locked Sam into a large demon-proof vault in Singer's cellar – they call it the panic room. Apparently the idea is to break Sam of his demon-blood addiction by complete and sustained withdrawal."

"That explains Dean's energy. He's determined but very fearful. And Sam – " Castiel focused. "Sam is angry, but almost completely dominated by fear." He looked puzzled. "He's communicating with someone."

"How? Who?"

Castiel closed his eyes, opened them. "He's hallucinating."

A stab of sympathy went through him. He tried to ignore it.

"And Dean's calling you. Good and worried."

"That would understate his emotions. As desperate as he is to keep Sam from dying, he is even more desperate to keep Sam from being ruled by the darkness within him. I truly believe he would allow Sam to die before he would let Sam resume drinking blood."

"Well." Zachariah smiled. "Lucky for him, he won't have to make that decision."

"Do you wish me to release Sam Winchester? I could do it in such a way as to make it look like demons had released him."

Again there was that slightly disconcerted quality to Zachariah's energy. "Ah – well, yes, eventually. And good idea, the demon-framing. But we want Dean to be thoroughly desperate first."

Zachariah sat back in his chair. Castiel observed him steadily.

"And the reason why we want him thoroughly desperate," Zachariah continued after a moment, "is because we're getting down to the wire. We need to count on Dean's cooperation shortly after Lucifer rises, and Dean's still treating us like we're the bad guys. So give him two hours to think we've abandoned him, then present the situation as a choice between his precious freedom and Sam's life. I bet he'll swear his fealty to Heaven."

"The same oath that I swore?"

"With appropriate changes, yes."

"Two hours, then." Castiel nodded, folded his hands in his lap, and looked at Zachariah.

"Um – you're dismissed, Castiel. Go do something fun for two hours."

He couldn't think of anything particularly fun. He sat on a hillside near Singer's home, looking at stars. He remembered that at one time he had had a great deal to do. But it all involved initiative and willfulness – bothering angels about seals, trying to keep one from breaking –

(Lorraine plunged a knife into herself as he watched. Castiel flinched, closed his eyes.)

Even before seals had begun breaking, he remembered that his time was full of activity. A great deal of the time it had nothing to do with orders from his superiors. He was surprised that he'd done as little damage as he had.

He tried to pray, but something was wrong. He tried to focus his attention on God, but he kept remembering Rachel:

"You won't be able to keep from thinking about what I said.

"You can regain your sense of right and wrong.

"You were right."

He shook his head and tried to think of God, but now all he could think of was Dean Winchester rejecting destiny: "You know, we might just make it up as we go."

And he remembered those other thoughts about Dean too, and buried his face in his hands.

He couldn't understand. He was an obedient angel now, he had the approval of Heaven. Why would God let these other thoughts disturb him?

It couldn't be, could it –

No. Of course not. He simply needed to focus better.

But he wished that Zachariah had given him an order of how to fill these two hours.

By the time he arrived in Bobby Singer's scrap yard, he felt as haggard as Dean looked.

"Well, it's about time. Been screamin' myself hoarse out here for about two and a half hours now." This was no exaggeration.

"What do you want?"

First he wanted to know about what Castiel was going to tell him before Castiel's disappearance. The angel tried to dismiss it as not of import, but Dean wasn't buying. "You got ass-reamed in Heaven and it was not of import?"

Castiel wondered how Dean knew what had caused his change of attitude. Possibly Dean had understood from Castiel's nerves in his dream.

Or Anna. Yes, he could see that, Anna jumping in to talk down Heaven to the Winchesters before vanishing again. She really had to be more careful. She had saved his life and he was grateful, but the justice of Heaven demanded that she spend two weeks in the Chamber. Almost five years in that isolation and sensory deprivation.

"Get to the reason you really called me." He was deliberately moving away from Dean. "Sam, right?"

"Can he do it? Kill Lilith? Stop the Apocalypse?"

Castiel told him it was possible, but that in order to do so Sam would have to consume so much demon blood that he would change forever – become an inhuman monster. He sounded confident as he said this, because it was easy to mask from a human that Heaven had no idea what would happen to Sam. He might die; he might just go through an especially nasty withdrawal. But the he'll-become-a-monster theory pushed Dean's panic button as nothing else would.

"There's no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean." He made himself move closer to Dean now, facing him. "We believe it's you, Dean, not your brother. The only question for us is whether you're willing to accept this. Stand up and accept your role."

Dean was going to do it. He had to resist a little more, because he was himself, but Castiel knew he'd given in. He moved away from Cas, closer to the stacks of flattened car bodies and towering outdoor shelving full of car parts. A train horn sounded in the distance as Dean thought.

Then Dean sucked in a breath. "Fine, I'm in."

"Do you give yourself over wholly to the service of God and His angels?"

"Yeah, exactly."

He looked at the back of Dean's head. "Say it."

Dean turned to look at him with a cross of humiliation, irritation and disbelief.

_Just surrender, Dean, _Castiel thought, trying to convey it without words._ It feels so much better when you surrender to the will of Heaven._

Dean walked over to him slowly as he said, "I give myself over wholly to serve God – " he planted himself in front of Castiel, staring into his face – "and you guys."

"You asshole," was the unspoken suffix to the sentence, but as long as he had said the words, Zachariah would be happy.

"You swear to follow His will and His word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?"

"Yes. I swear."

Castiel nodded.

"Now what?"

"Now you wait. And we call you when it's time."

Dean drew a deep shaking breath. Castiel looked at him, wanting to say something, feeling that he should move away but unable to make himself do it. Deep in Singer's panic room, Sam began crying out.

.

Afterward, thinking about how he'd been unable to move away from Dean even when he thought he should, something occurred to Castiel.

He'd first realized that he desired Dean while inhabiting the human form in the Chamber. But he still desired Dean in his current vessel (and there was another problem, desire for someone while inhabiting the vessel of a religious, faithful, and happily married man). And while events had moved too rapidly for self-examination while he was in his true form and in Claire's vessel, he'd been aware of a background yearning even then.

Angels' true forms don't have physical feelings as corporeal beings understand them, and certainly not sexual lust. Yet Castiel seemed to carry this pull toward Dean with his true form, from vessel to vessel.

Was it possible that there was a spiritual element to this desire?

He shook his head. When would he stop trying to justify his own wickedness?

He had to cultivate the relaxed feeling, free from conflict, that being obedient gave him. Zachariah had two important jobs for him, and he knew they were both tests, so he had to fortify his will.


	13. Chapter 13

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episodes "When the Levee Breaks" and "Lucifer Rising."_

.

The superior angel had wanted to put a full day between the time that Castiel swore Dean to Heaven's service and the time that Sam was released, so that neither Dean's nor Singer's mind would go immediately to Castiel's recent presence when it happened. Almost exactly twenty-four hours after Castiel had left, an opportunity arose. Dean had gone to a convenience store to put gas in the car and buy coffee; Singer had been researching Lucifer but had fallen asleep on his desk.

Castiel stood in the basement, focusing his energy inside the vault where Sam had been shackled for his own protection. There were devil's traps traced on the floor and ceiling; he ran inch-wide breaks through each of them. Then he popped Sam's shackles open and, with a simple gesture, slid the bolt of the iron door and pushed the door open.

Sam's energy was interesting, a cross of intelligent caution and ravenous rashness. Castiel could feel that Sam felt physically weak, but energized by desperation. "Hello? Someone here?"

Sam stepped out of the vault and glanced around. He didn't see Castiel, of course, as he ran up the basement steps. Castiel closed the vault door and bolted it again with the same gesture.

He had originally thought that Zachariah would want him to baby-sit Sam until the boy had made it into Ruby's arms, but finally both had agreed that, once out of the vault, Sam was capable of doing whatever it took to feed his addiction. So Castiel moved straight to the second mission of the evening.

He was going to be very glad to get it over with.

He was startled when Jimmy unexpectedly spoke to him. He didn't normally hear specific sentences from Jimmy, more unspoken fears and wishes. But this came through clear as a bell: _If it's wrong, why are you doing it?_

_It's my own disobedience that makes it seem wrong. It feels like betraying a friend, a comrade who once saved my life. If I thought rightly, it would feel like justice._

And again Jimmy asked, _If it's wrong, why are you doing it?_

_Heaven has ordered it. Heaven is rightness. And therefore everything that goes against Heaven's will is by definition – _

"You've always been strong," Rachel had said. "You can regain your sense of right and wrong."

He closed his eyes and leaned on the dock's railing, hearing the water plash softly below. "Ann – " he began, and his own traitorous voice choked off.

He was the only one who could do this. Zachariah had said he was invaluable to Heaven for retrieving the fugitive. She wouldn't answer anyone else's call.

"Anna," he said aloud.

Perhaps she wouldn't answer.

"Anna, I have just released Sam Winchester on orders. But I am – Now I wonder if I should have done it."

He was about to call again when he sensed her – as did the street lamp flickering above him – and turned.

"What did you do?"

Something dropped in his, in Jimmy's, chest. "You shouldn't have come, Anna."

She knew that Sam had been drinking demon blood; she knew that Dean had been trying to break that addiction. She berated Castiel for following orders, and all he could do was repeat, "You really shouldn't have come."

They both heard wings an instant before Isabel and Ephraim materialized, one on either side of Anna, each taking one of her arms.

Anna looked at Castiel – not in disbelief, in shocked disappointment. There was a brief struggle as blue-white light flooded the dock, but they held her too securely: Isabel didn't even need to create the net. The light grew to blinding intensity, then faded, and they were gone.

Castiel turned, leaned on the railing. He looked to Heaven and hoped that the greater angels would take mercy on Anna, lessen her sentence.

Unexpectedly, his eyes hurt. When water spilled out of them, he understood.

He felt as though he had stabbed, not a friend, but himself.

"One day in the Chamber isn't enough to completely destroy the essence of an angel like you," Rachel had said.

Well, if this rebelliousness was his essence, it had better be destroyed, or he'd be facing a longer sentence than one day.

He'd barely formulated the thought before it made him gasp.

_Is that why I've changed my attitude? Not because I better understand my own foul nature and disobedience, but because I fear going back into the Chamber?_

No. He'd never turned away from anything because of a risk, not in his whole existence. Obedience was right, and betraying, no, turning Anna over to Heaven's justice, simply felt wrong.

_If it was wrong_, Jimmy asked again, _why did you do it?_

.

When Dean tracked Sam down, he began his attempt to persuade Sam to return to detox by trying to kill Ruby. It didn't go over well with Sam (or Ruby), and things escalated to a brutal fight between the brothers. Dean said that Sam was becoming a monster; Sam said that Dean was weak and that he himself was the only one strong enough to stop Lucifer's rise, and seemed to prove it to himself by putting Dean through a partition and a glass coffee table, beating and almost choking Dean, until he stormed out the door.

Castiel was under orders not to interfere unless Dean's life was endangered. When Sam began choking Dean, Castiel almost appeared; but what was left of the humanity in Sam ruled. Castiel was shocked by the sight of Sam's soul as the young man left; he was much closer to being a demon than he would probably have believed.

But that was why he was necessary, of course, and why it was necessary to allow the brothers' connection to be severed. Castiel had abandoned the hope that Heaven would save Sam once he'd killed Lilith. Probably only re-establishing Sam's connection with Dean could do that.

"I need you to drop Dean into the green room immediately," Zachariah told Castiel the next morning.

"Why?" Castiel asked, then started. "I beg your pardon, sir."

Zachariah raised his eyebrows, but let it pass. "Protection. Lucifer's about to rise, and the Lone Ranger is apt to try to rush off and stop it single-handed. If that boy gets his pinky finger broken we'll both be hearing about it from Michael. The green room is safe, and under our control."

"He's likely to resent being abducted. He did swear his obedience, but you know humans when they're disturbed."

Zachariah looked a little disgusted, but as though he saw Castiel's point. "Well, look after him. Keep him content. We may have to hold on to him for a few days."

Stiff, bruised, angry and almost despairing of Sam, Dean had slept for a few hours and then driven back to Bobby Singer's house. When Castiel arrived, Singer was trying to argue Dean into reaching out to Sam again. Castiel wondered if this, more than concern for Dean's safety, was Zachariah's reason for abducting Dean. But it wasn't Castiel's place to question.

Dean began a sentence in Singer's living room and would have finished it in the green room if he hadn't stopped dead in astonishment.

"Hello, Dean. It's almost time."

"What the hell?" But even in his astonishment, Castiel noted, Dean was observing the elegant cream-and-gold Baroque furniture and walls, the cheerful pastoral paintings, the room's dimensions, and the exact locations of the door, the marble-topped table in the center of the room, the fireplace, Castiel himself.

"This is an area where humans remain safely if they are needed to play a part in the Plan. For that reason, Zachariah likes to call it the green room."

"A little warning would be a good thing, you know?" But Dean's focus wasn't on the rebuke. "So it's Lilith-killing time?"

Castiel averted his gaze. "I'm not sure of the exact sequence of events. I simply know that your presence will be required soon."

"And you guys couldn't have found me at Bobby's? Crap! Does Bobby have any idea what happened, or did I just vanish?"

"You simply vanished, but if you wish to reassure him you may call him. I can obtain a telephone for you."

"No, thanks, I've got – " Dean stopped as he was reaching into his pocket. "But I don't have the knife. The demon-killing knife. If you want me to go up against Lilith, it's back at Bobby's."

"If the knife is needed, we'll get it."

"If? How else am I supposed to kill her? Charm her to death?"

Castiel looked at the floor. Dean was willing, even eager, to cooperate with Heaven in this matter. And Heaven's plan almost certainly required Dean's brother to destroy himself.

"That's right," Dean said after a moment of silence. "I'd forgotten that you're the old unimproved Cas."

Castiel raised his gaze. "You may be waiting for a while. Do you require anything? Are you hungry?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "I need to pee. Please tell me Marie Antoinette has a john."

"In that alcove containing the sofa, there are mirrors on both of the side walls. Press on the wall just below the mirror on either side."

Dean did so, and looked in. "Nice." Then he turned again, studying Castiel. "There's a shower in here. How the hell long am I gonna be here?"

"The room is equipped for all contingencies. If you want anything to pass the time, I can produce it for you."

"Yeah, that's right, I'd forgot you can – " Dean began with a grin.

They both remembered at the same moment when Castiel had last miraculously produced items, and fell silent, trying not to think about torture.

"I'll be back out in a minute," Dean said.

Castiel heard his voice in the bathroom. He was calling Bobby, and was apparently telling himself that a wall would give him adequate privacy from angelic senses. Castiel listened just long enough to be sure that Dean wasn't planning something foolish, then turned to study the paintings of 18th-century beauty and playful seduction.

Of course, the people in those paintings, the people who'd paid for those paintings, enjoyed beauty and wealth at the expense of farmers and laborers who lived in grinding poverty. Not that there hadn't been a reckoning, in the form of unbelievably savage class warfare. Even in America, the desire of the nation to establish its own system and enjoy the fruits of its own labors had come at the cost of bitter warfare. And of course, the fruits of Americans' labors was even at that time beginning to mean the fruits of land wrenched from the original inhabitants.

Paradise, Castiel thought, trying to lift his own spirits. Paradise.

"Nice rack on that girl," Dean said, suddenly beside him in front of the painting.

"You have a way of reducing complex matters to their essence," Castiel said.

"God, Cas, did you just make a joke?" Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man!"

Castiel repressed a feeling of delight. "I must report to Zachariah. What would you like to keep you occupied?"

Dean looked blank for a moment, then grinned. "The new issue of Busty Asian Beauties should be out."

Castiel handed it to him, and Dean chuckled. "Oh, man. Where were you when I was stuck in a motel with a busted leg and Sam was out salting and burning?"

The moment he mentioned Sam, a shadow came over his face, but Castiel could read stubborn anger as well as sorrow in his energy. He wouldn't be trying to reach out to Sam just yet.

"You will probably want to eat lunch in two hours," Castiel said. "I'll return at that time."

Zachariah had no orders for him, so Castiel spent a couple of hours praying for strength, and then returned to the green room.

Busty Asian Beauties lay on the floor near the fireplace, as did one of the fireplace pokers, and a broken statuette, presumably a casualty of Dean's ghost-dispelling practice. Dean himself was standing by the baroque harp in the corner, banging and strumming the strings as if it were a huge, awkwardly shaped guitar. The cacophony was amazing.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed when he saw Castiel. "I'm goin' out of my mind here. Do we have an ETA on Lilith?"

"I believe that Zachariah does, and will be discussing it with you later today."

"Later – today." Dean drew a deep breath. "OK. I gotta tell you, patience isn't my best quality."

"I am aware of that. But lunch will help to pass the time, will it not?"

"Yes it will. And I've decided the best place to go. You might even want to try something there."

"I will be happy to bring food here from anyplace you like."

Dean's face was a cross between pathetic and exasperated. "Come on, Cas. If I don't get out of here for a while at least, I'm just going to start screaming at Zach when he walks in. One hour for lunch. I'm pretty sure you can keep me from getting lost."

Castiel's orders were to keep Dean safe, but also to keep him content. So he took Dean where he requested, which – to Castiel's slight surprise – was a Chinese restaurant in Minneapolis.

"Don't look so surprised," said Dean after his order was placed, reading Castiel almost as readily as Castiel read him. "I do eat something besides fast food sometimes. Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Quite sure."

"You know where Sam is?" Dean's tone hadn't changed.

"I do not."

"You know what happens if he gets close enough to Lilith that he thinks he can kill her. You told me yourself."

"He can always make the decision not to drink that much demon blood."

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, looked at Castiel. "He can? What happened to all roads leading to the same destination?"

"It – if he – " Castiel couldn't believe he was stammering. "If he chooses not to kill Lilith, then we know that was his destiny."

Dean gave him a "gotcha" grin, then let out a deep sigh that seemed to surprise even him. "I tried to talk to him, you know. He just – He needs to be stopped. I don't think talking will do it." He shook his head. "And then he'll have to go through the whole withdrawal thing again. I'm going to kill that bitch for letting him out."

Cas studied the tabletop.

"Hey," Dean said suddenly. "You got a girlfriend."

He had been aware of a loving energy nearby, but now he looked up. A tiny girl, just learning to walk, was heading for Castiel as fast as she could go. She had to brace her little hands on every chair seat and table leg in the six-foot distance, but she kept her eyes on his face the whole time, and when she took the last wavering step that allowed her to brace herself on Castiel's knee, she met his gaze with a laugh of pure joy.

Castiel's spirits revived, and he treasured this small moment as a gift from God.

"That's amazing." The little girl's mother was crouched nearby. "She's usually really shy around strangers."

Castiel looked at the mother, who had a tattoo on her neck and was dressed in cheap but clean clothes. A neglected childhood had led her to a young womanhood of constantly seeking approval and attention through actions that were anywhere from silly to self-destructive. But the birth of her child had sharply changed her focus. She was holding down a job, taking night classes, had one steady boyfriend. She still wasn't sure that she deserved the comfort and stability she had pulled together, but she was certain her daughter deserved it.

In response to the woman's remark, Dean said, "Well, Cas is one of the good guys."

Castiel looked at Dean, surprised, then looked back down at the child.

Then he successfully hid his start at what he was seeing.

It was like one of the more horrible hallucinations in the Chamber. This little girl, consumed by hellfire on Earth, while her mother screamed in anguish and despair.

"How old is she?" Dean asked.

"Thirteen months."

Dean grinned. "My brother started walking when he was thirteen months old. I remember a gal telling my dad that he was probably smart, if he was walking that early."

The woman smiled and stretched out her arms. "Come to Mommy, honey. We have to go now."

Castiel touched the child's head. "God bless you."

The little girl did her staggering toddle to her mother, who swept her up with a laugh and bid good afternoon to Dean and Castiel as Dean's lunch arrived.

Dean enjoyed eating as always; if Castiel seemed even more silent to him than usual, he didn't mention it. As they prepared to leave, Dean looked around for waiters and then, giving Castiel a wink, stashed a small capped bottle of soy sauce in an inside pocket of his jacket. This venial sin was so far down on Castiel's list of concerns that he didn't even give Dean a reproving look. The Winchesters, lifesavers and Godsends to many, largely supported themselves by fraud and occasionally by petty theft, as they'd been raised, and Castiel supposed that extended to condiment theft as well.

When they got back to the green room Dean requested a comfortable chair, a jug of water, aspirin for a slight headache, a TV set, and season 2 of "Dr. Sexy, M.D." He was very detailed in his specifications for the recliner and TV set, and impressed when Castiel met them. Dean wanted Cas to watch the show with him, so the angel pulled up one of the cream and gold chairs, folded his hands in his lap, and watched patiently while Dean enthusiastically described the characters and gave tips on their complicated pasts and possible motivations. Castiel couldn't help telling himself how unlikely it was that these people could actually practice medicine while devoting so much time to their love lives, but he understood that this was what was meant by fiction.

He understood something else, too, watching Dean almost cheer as (in the same episode) Dr. Sexy saved someone's life with a brilliant diagnosis, shamed an insurance company into covering a child's treatments, and then enfolded the beautiful-but-sexually-frigid surgeon in a promising embrace: Even champions need heroes.

Dean dozed off toward the middle of the third episode, and Castiel slipped away to report to Zachariah, asking where Sam was.

"Driving through Ohio. He must have a lead of some kind; he only slept for a few hours early this morning, and he's been making good time."

"Do we know his destination yet?"

"No. Lilith's been keeping herself well cloaked." Zachariah smiled sharply. "I'm guessing she's going to feed some unsuspecting minion of hers to Sam. He'll get a location from the minion and get drunk on blood, and then Lilith will go ahead and let demonic signs spell out 'Final Seal Here!' in neon." Zachariah shrugged. "I could be wrong."

Castiel wondered if Lucifer would rise in the city where the little girl was. Surely that would be too much of a coincidence.

"Are you all right?" Zachariah asked. "Not slipping away from us again, are you? We need you more than ever now."

"I understand the need for Paradise," Castiel said quietly. "The amount of destruction anticipated is sobering. When Lucifer has risen, I would appreciate an assignment of a defensive or protective nature, if you have such available."

"Are you sure? The offensive legions are where the glory is, you know." Zachariah dropped his usual slight smile, wrinkled his forehead and looked concerned. "No one's looking forward to the destruction. It's simply a tribulation we all have to go through in order to reach Paradise. Again, we're not forcing this. If Lucifer decided to simply enjoy his freedom without venting his hatred of humans or trying to conquer Heaven, none of it would be necessary."

Castiel nodded. "Do you have an assignment for me?"

"Not now. Go enjoy yourself. How's Dean?"

"Asleep, at the moment. I would strongly suggest either setting him free or giving him a better explanation of what is happening. He has been dealing with inaction far better than I would have thought, but no human with an energy level that high will cooperate under these circumstances for long."

Zachariah raised an eyebrow, clearly not caring whether Dean felt like cooperating. "Well, I'll drop by and talk to him tonight. See if I can't come up with a couple of suggestions to keep him happy."

Well. That was something to look forward to. In the meantime, Castiel withdrew to a quiet dark hill in the Cotswolds to think.

Humans who didn't believe in God's existence believed in coincidence and a guilty mind playing tricks on itself. But Castiel knew to the core of his being that God existed, and even if the archangels weren't receiving direct orders from Him, surely they could see Him in moments like the one at lunch today. For a baby to find him and recharge his flagging morale with the pure energy of her joy at seeing an angel – that was no coincidence.

Which made his horrific vision even more alarming. In showing him the baby's death by hellfire, was God warning him that he was on the wrong path in abetting the Apocalypse? If so, why tell Castiel? Why not send a vision to Michael or Raphael?

Perhaps He had, and they had, unbelievably, ignored Him. Or perhaps they were so set on their path that they simply didn't see or hear any warning messages.

Or perhaps the vision wasn't godly. If Lucifer had found some way into Castiel's mind, the vision might be a way of pulling Castiel back to rebelliousness. It wasn't hard to guess how an evil being might have got into Castiel's mind; his lust for Dean was probably obvious even as the two of them sat casually at a lunch table.

He was fighting hard against dispiritedness when he accompanied Zachariah to talk to Dean. The whole meeting didn't go well. The room reverted to status quo when Dean was away or asleep, and he was pretty cross that the TV had vanished and he'd wakened sleeping on the floor. And Zachariah was, well, Zachariah – assuming that Dean was an ape to be pacified with burgers, an ice bucket of his favorite beer, and the suggestion of a sexual romp with fictional women brought to life from a TV show of which Castiel had never heard.

"Bail on the holodeck, OK?" Dean said brusquely, confusing Castiel further. "I want to know what the game plan is."

Well, of course Zachariah wasn't going to tell him that the game plan involved Sam drinking vast quantities of demon blood and breaking the final seal that would bring on the Apocalypse. He did tell Dean that there was only one seal left, that Lilith was required to break it, and that she would do it at midnight the next night. (Castiel didn't want to know how Zachariah knew that.) Dean didn't even seem to notice that this doomed him to spend another day in the green room. He was impatient, not paying full attention, wanted to take some action.

"All in good time," Zachariah told him.

"Isn't now a good time?"

"Have faith."

"What, in you? Give me one good reason why I should."

Zachariah was not amused. He moved close to Dean and said with quiet ferocity, "Because you swore your obedience. So obey."

Dean glared at the truth but didn't say a word, then looked over Zachariah's shoulder at Castiel.

Even champions need heroes, and Castiel knew he couldn't have been further from that as far as Dean was concerned. But Dean didn't realize what a heroic effort on Castiel's part it was not to speak up, not to rebel. _Just wait, Dean_, he thought – unable to meet the human's eyes yet again – _just wait for the joy and beauty of Paradise. Then you'll understand._

Castiel stayed after Zachariah left. He thought they'd be sitting in uncomfortable silence, but midway through his first burger Dean suddenly became chatty. He'd have blamed it on the beer, but it soon became obvious that this wasn't a chat, it was an interrogation. Castiel dodged questions and skirted direct answers for a while, finally suggested bringing the TV set back.

"I'll tell you what would help. If you bring back that bottle of aspirin and just give it to me."

Castiel did so, but said, "This recurring headache of yours concerns me. They're not usual with you."

"Yeah. You know what else isn't usual? The Apocalypse being hours away. My brother and me not speaking, and him off God knows where with a demon. All of this happening while I sit on my ass in a museum. With an all-powerful being whose idea of helping is asking if I want a TV set." He popped two aspirin in his mouth, washed them down with beer, and put the aspirin bottle in his jacket, which he wore at almost all times. "I'm lucky I haven't had a friggin' embolism."

"I am not all-powerful, Dean," Castiel said quietly. "If I were, I could explain to you why all of this is necessary."

Dean gave him a level look, then finished his beer. "Well, what the hell. Let's crank up the 'Dr. Sexy' marathon again. Good episode coming up. Dr. Sexy cures a model of bulimia, and she's so grateful she makes a huge pass at him, and he refuses because of his ethics. Great stuff."

Castiel sighed slightly and brought back the TV set and the recliner. He also conjured a bed, promising Dean that this wouldn't disappear when he was asleep.

Dean sat on it to test it. "I'm not sure I know how to sleep on a good mattress."

"I can supply it with a lumpy motel mattress, if you like." Castiel had to smile a little.

"No, thanks. Hey, but I was wondering something else. There's a lot more light in here than that chandelier's putting out. But I can't see any fixtures. How do I turn out the lights to sleep?"

"You simply say, 'I wish it were dark in here.'"

"Does that work even if you're not here?"

"Yes."

"I wish it were dark in here," Dean said, and it was. "I wish it were light in here," and it was. He chuckled, standing and looking around him. "Cool. I wish it was dark in here. I wish it was light in here. I wish it was dark in here. I wish it was light in here."

"Are you quite through?" Castiel asked, deadpan.

Dean looked at him with a laugh, and their gazes locked for a moment.

Something like panic flooded Castiel.


	14. Chapter 14

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode "Lucifer Rising."_

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Dean moved over to his recliner. "Come on, let's watch the show."

"I must – I have other matters to attend to. I'm sorry. Can I get you anything before I go?"

Dean considered. "Pez? Maybe a dispenser with a wookie head? I always wanted one of those."

Castiel gave him two, and left.

.

As Dean watched television, Sam and Ruby circled the outskirts of Chesapeake, West Virginia, apparently looking over vacant buildings. When they found one – according to Zachariah's agent who was watching from a distance – they rigged a cot in the basement with shackles; then Ruby went to find a fast-food place that was open late while Sam looked over several websites on his laptop.

Alerted by Dean's determined energy well after he'd darkened the room, Castiel followed Dean invisibly as he slipped quietly out the door and tried all of the other doors in the corridor outside. Each looked promising, but simply led to a maze that inevitably took Dean back to the green room. Castiel had to admire Dean's persistence; he tried everything from tapping the walls for hidden passages to staring at a wall with intense focus to speaking Latin to trying to throw himself against unyielding French doors.

Finally he grumbled, "Cas, I know you're there. Excuse the hell out of me for wanting to take a walk. I'm going back to bed." With which he dropped, fully clothed, onto the bed and was asleep in minutes.

While Dean slept, Sam and Ruby drove to a nearby hospital and appeared to stake out a neonatal ward. They seemed to be watching the nurses on the graveyard shift, but it wasn't until several hours later, when one of the nurses tried to wheel a baby out of an isolated back exit, that they had the chance to approach their target without onlookers. Sam held the demon-possessed nurse against the wall with his mind while Ruby hastily returned the baby to the nearest hospital corridor, and then the two of them bundled the demon out to Ruby's car. Sam sat with her in the back seat while Ruby drove to the house; the two of them shackled the demon and began asking for Lilith's location.

During this whole time, Zachariah's agent reported with some concern – nervousness? – Sam needed no talisman and no devil's trap to overpower the demon and keep it imprisoned in the nurse's body. When he began to torture her, he did it as with Alastair – focus and an occasional gesture, nothing more. The demon was more frightened of Lilith than agonized by the pain Sam was inflicting on her, but that didn't last very long.

The demon broke about the time that Dean woke up. Ruby and Sam had breakfast, then Sam slept while Ruby guarded their prisoner. Zachariah told Castiel that much, but apparently didn't want to burden him – or didn't trust him – with the knowledge of Lilith's location Sam now had.

Castiel, listening to Dean leave a gruffly apologetic, touching message on Sam's cell phone, really didn't care where Lilith was. He only wondered if Sam was too far gone to care about Dean's call.

He gave Dean privacy for the call, then appeared in the room where Dean was munching on more of the burgers, still heaped on the tray, and drinking a beer. Castiel's appearance didn't startle him. "You know these burgers are still hot? And fresh? And the ice in the bucket hasn't melted? Pretty amazing."

"I could get you a more conventional breakfast."

"Why? I'm going to be stark raving insane in a few hours, so what the hell, might as well enjoy sanity." Dean actually sounded pretty relaxed at the prospect. "After I go around the bend they're gonna be feeding me nothing but creamed spinach and Jell-O."

"At least we know when something will happen. Midnight tonight."

"And in the meantime we sit here."

"Perhaps you will need to be well rested. Or perhaps pent-up anger and impatience are what will be needed."

Dean shook his head. "You know, there are plenty of times as a hunter when you have to sit around waiting for something to happen. It always helps me to work with my hands – packing bullets, cleaning weapons, working on the car. I'm all caught up with that stuff, and – "

He broke off, smiled crookedly, then shook his head and said, "Nah."

"No to what?" Castiel asked. Oddly, he was seeing an image from Dean's childhood in Dean's mind.

Dean laughed. "It's pretty stupid. But you know, I was good at this as a kid. Arts and crafts. You know, you just get a table heaped up with colored paper, scissors, colored pencils, modeling clay, paint, you know, staples, glue, crayons, that kind of stuff, and just make whatever you feel like. But it's a dumb – "

The table was there, loaded with everything Dean had suggested and more. He looked at it and laughed. "Well, what the hell. Also, when I was in school, I never got the chance to see how beer affects creativity."

He grabbed a beer, pulled one of the chairs over to the crafts table, and began squashing clay between his hands lustily.

Zachariah kept Castiel busy for the next few hours checking with the commander of each garrison to see if they had made preparations for war "in case" the final seal should break. Almost all of them blamed themselves for the loss of at least one of the seals, and apologized to Castiel personally with stone-faced but bitter regret. He felt like the worst kind of user, promising to pass along their remorse, and never saying that they hadn't been given the information or tools they needed by Heaven's greater angels.

Only two commanders offered no apology. Castiel knew that both of them suspected that Heaven's soldiers had been set up for failure; he had talked to them about leading the revolt he'd planned. Both of them knew that Castiel had served time in the Chamber since then. Their talks were businesslike and brief.

But the last commander he spoke to had just resigned her command in her guilt and had joined the lowest-ranking soldiers. Castiel had to talk the commander's replacement out of joining her.

He went to Mexico and sat by himself in a quiet small-town church that was one of his favorites.

He was trying very hard to justify Heaven's treatment of its best warriors. Failing, he was growing angry. Anger would lead him back to rebellion and the Chamber.

He swallowed hard, remembering the cruel isolation, the realization of his own foul nature and how good and tolerant the Host had been to put up with him for so long.

Anna had already been in the Chamber two and a half times as long as he had been, and she had so much more time to go. He tried in every way he could to reach out to her, but couldn't sense her energy anywhere. He knew she would be angry at him, but he also knew that at this point she would have welcomed any outside contact, anything real.

He wondered what horrific revelations she was having. He tried not to think about Dean.

Then suddenly, he thought about Dean. It had been six hours since he'd eaten a very poor breakfast. This was not the way to keep him content.

And at that moment he heard, "Cas? Are you there? I need something."

It was as though they were tuned in to each other. Castiel put up every guard he had and went.

Dean must have dozed off or abandoned the crafts table; it was gone, and the room was as before (including the beer and burgers). Contentment was nowhere in Dean's energy; indeed, as Castiel appeared, Dean was taking great satisfaction in tipping a white china angel off of its shelf and watching it smash on the floor.

"You asked to see me," Castiel said.

Dean wanted to see Sam. Castiel had known that couldn't be put off forever, but it couldn't have come at a worse time. Castiel could tell that Sam was asleep, but even in sleep his energy was troubled, guilt-ridden. If Dean went to him now, there might be another fight and Sam might leave twice as determined on his course of action; or Dean might actually be able to persuade Sam to stop. Castiel knew without asking: This was not a risk the greater angels would be willing to take. He refused.

"What do you mean, no? Are you saying that I'm trapped here?"

"You can go wherever you want."

"Super. I want to go see Sam."

"Except there."

"I want to take a walk."

"Fine," Castiel said, "I'll go with you."

"Alone."

"No."

"You know what, screw this noise. I'm outta here."

Dean headed for the door, which Castiel and he both knew was pointless. The maze of corridors hadn't changed. But Dean had to understand, once and for all, that Heaven was in charge. "Through what door?"

Dean looked back over his shoulder at Castiel, baffled, then looked at the door – which was now a solid wall with a knick-knack table in front of it. "Damn it!"

Castiel absented himself for awhile. Dean would probably want to vent his feelings on the furniture.

But when Castiel returned with two dishes and silverware, Dean was sitting quietly on the floor, his back against the wall, staring at the chandelier almost dreamily. His energy, though, was no less intense.

Castiel put the dishes and silverware on the table and looked at Dean. He'd been trying to make a call – his cell phone was on the floor beside him – and must have realized that Zachariah had decided to render the phone useless.

"OK," Dean said, "I give. But I've got to get out of here, Cas. I'm going nuts. How about Omaha? You've got to see the zoo to believe it."

Not with Dean's energy like that. Castiel had no desire to collar Dean in a public place and have to erase the memories of hundreds of witnesses. "It's too close to midnight, Dean. It would be very unwise for me to take the chance of removing you when you could be needed at any moment."

In the tone of one making a friendly promise, "I'm going to get out of here, you son of a bitch. You know I am."

"You should eat lunch. It's late afternoon."

"What is it with you and Zach keeping me fattened up?" Dean said, then looked disconcerted. "Is that it? You're gonna poison me and feed me to Lilith?"

Castiel almost smiled. "I don't know what part you play, Dean, but I'm willing to guarantee that's not it."

"What'd they do to you, Cas?"

Castiel averted his gaze.

"One torture victim to another. You know what they did to me in Hell. You've gotta know I'm going to understand."

"Heaven doesn't torture," Castiel said sharply.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "That what they told you to say?"

"Angels who have been corrected aren't allowed to discuss it."

"'Corrected.' Nice." Dean rose easily and walked toward him. "Try brainwashed. Try zombified."

"They are the Heavenly Host, the agents of fate throughout eternity, the holiest creations of God."

"They're going to keep me sitting here while my brother drinks enough demon blood to destroy himself. And then supposedly I'm going to kill Lilith, and Sam will be dead, or a monster, for no reason. How holy can they be?"

Castiel took a step back, took a deep breath, met Dean's gaze. "Would you like to bring the television back? Or the – the crafts?"

Dean chuckled, a frightening sound coupled with the look in his eyes. "No. But you want to see what I made?"

He pulled out of his pocket a thick booklet of small squares of paper stapled together. It was a flipbook – a series of sequential drawings that turned into elementary animation when the pages were flipped. An angel – recognizable by its triangular robe, wings, and halo over its circle head – flew past a cloud and then directly into a wall. Dean snickered.

"It's good that you have this creative way of venting your feelings."

Dean looked over Cas' shoulder. "What's that?"

"A Cobb salad with extra bacon, and an apple pie."

Dean nodded, went to the table, uncapped a beer, and poured it deliberately into the salad bowl.

He set the bottle down. "Somewhere along the line, Cas, you're going to realize that you should have been helping me, not your bosses. I just hope it won't be too late."

It was too much like Rachel's calm assertion that Castiel would seek her out eventually. Something roiled within him. He clenched his fists, saw that Dean had seen him do that, and fled.

He knew that Sam was driving, that Sam's desperate determination was overwhelming feelings of guilt and despair. Sam knew this would kill him, or worse, and he was determined anyway.

Castiel could have found him. But the temptation to stop him would be too strong. He tried to pray, but all he could hear was Jimmy's voice. Just two words, over and over, as though Jimmy were calling out in a nightmare.

_Amelia. Claire. Amelia. Claire._

_I will protect them from Lucifer,_ Castiel thought. _They will not experience the horror, they will only experience Paradise. And no, they won't be exactly the same, but they'll be happier. Don't you want that for them?_

_Amelia. Claire._

"Castiel."

Castiel looked up at Zachariah, whose energy was unmasked fury. "Your charge is spraying rage and plaster chips all over the green room. I'm going to explain a few home truths to him."

Castiel began to stand, and Zachariah waved him back down. "He doesn't need a friend right now, he needs an instructor. He wants to know what's going on, fine, I'll tell him, but he won't get any sweet talk from me. I want you to be available, though, just in case he tries to kill himself or something melodramatic after I'm gone."

He vanished.

_The fulfillment of prophecy,_ Castiel thought. _Paradise._

_Amelia. Claire._

.

He listened and watched from a distance as Zachariah told Dean almost everything. He told Dean that "senior management" had allowed 65 seals to break, that they had only put up a show of saving them for the benefit of the lower-level angels. He told Dean that the greater angels wished to let the Apocalypse happen, that they were going to win, and that Dean would be able to enjoy Paradise on Earth. He admitted, a little ruefully, that many people would die before Paradise was achieved.

Zachariah did not tell Dean that Lilith was the final seal and that Sam was Heaven's Plan A for breaking it. Castiel didn't know why Zachariah withheld that – he certainly didn't mind the hatred, terror, and revulsion that Dean was directing at him for everything else.

"Uh – no, Dean," Zachariah said, suddenly, calmly, "probably shouldn't try to bash my skull in with that thing. Wouldn't end up too pleasant for you."

Now Castiel understood why Zachariah wasn't telling Dean about Sam. Nothing would have stopped Dean from physically attacking Zachariah with the heavy bust he was eyeing, Zachariah would have defended himself, and then he would have had the hassle of explaining to Michael why Dean had got dented.

But Zachariah did tell Dean that – whatever Dean's part was in the Apocalypse – it didn't involve stopping Lilith; it involved stopping Lucifer after Lucifer's rise.

Castiel felt even more baffled than Dean. Only God, Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel had the kind of power required to stop Lucifer. What could Zachariah possibly mean?

"Tell me something," Dean said, his voice rough with emotion. "Where's God in all this?"

"God?" There was slight contempt in Zachariah's tone. "God has left the building."

And he left Dean alone.

Half an hour later, Castiel went to the green room. Dean was sitting on the floor again, and there were so many aspects to his energy – none of them good – that Cas found him hard to read. Outwardly, he looked as if he were in shock.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up. His voice was quiet. "You knew all along, didn't you? Telling me I had to stop it, pretending you might kill off that whole town to save a seal, being so happy when the seal in Greybull got saved. That was all – "

"No, Dean. I was only recently made aware of the plan for Paradise."

"The plan for Paradise? Does it really make you feel better to call it that?"

"That's – what it is. The Apocalypse is simply a tribulation we must all endure – "

"Skip it." Dean made an impatient gesture, then covered his face.

Castiel stood still, watching him. If Dean was on the verge of tears, it was so rare for him that Castiel didn't know how to react.

"Look," Dean said, bringing his hand down. "You said you'd let me go anywhere except to meet up with Sam, then I guess you reconsidered that. Any chance you could re-reconsider?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"There's a couple places Dad took Sam and me when we were kids. I always wanted to see 'em again, because of the memories and, you know, just because they're interesting. I have the feeling they're not going to be around much longer."

"You're thinking of one specifically. A cave with large lighted limestone formations, your father holding Sam in a – kind of wagon, by his belt, because Sam was curious about something and hanging over the side."

"Yeah." Dean smiled faintly. "Fantastic Caverns. That was great. You ride through in a tram, in between those huge stalactites and whatever, there's a waterfall that runs down a rock wall and you have to duck under rocks projecting out from the walls in the narrow parts. Anyway, Dad had to. Sam and me just looked up at the underside as we passed beneath." The smile fell away. "But you said it was late afternoon awhile ago. My watch stopped yesterday, but I'm guessing they're not running the trams now."

"Perhaps we could arrange for a private tour."

"A little angel mojo? I don't get it, Cas. Sometimes I swear you're one of the good guys and sometimes you're the coldest bastard I've ever known."

"I simply have to do my job, Dean. I wish you no ill. I wish humanity no ill. Quite the contrary."

"Sure." Dean rose as though he were exhausted or had been beaten. "Well, let's go to Fantastic Caverns. Maybe we'll follow it up with Epcot Center." He swallowed hard. Then his gaze drifted from Castiel, he made a small sound in his throat, and he pointed at the angel. "Give me a moment. Think I might barf."

Castiel allowed him his privacy in the restroom, but continuously read Dean's energy. The human was frightened, angry, feeling physically weakened. Perhaps Zachariah had been correct in thinking that Dean might do "something melodramatic."

When he came back out, it was a matter of minutes until they'd gone to Fantastic Caverns, found a tram driver who was washing down the tram cars, and caused him to decide that he wanted to take these two latecomers through the cave. Castiel had seen more spectacular caverns, but this one was wonderful in its own way, and of course he didn't have Dean's memories of the place. Dean's energy was surging with a 10-year-old's excitement.

"I'm sorry the lady who takes pictures and runs them through the developer has gone home," the tram driver said as they set out.

"Damn," Dean said. "Hey Cas, would you even show up in a photo?"

"Of course I would show up in a photo, Dean. This is a physical body."

The tram driver, who may have been under the influence of angel mojo but still knew a weird conversation when he heard it, glanced back over his shoulder before continuing his spiel.

They learned the colorful names of some of the limestone formations and part of the history of the place, which had been used for everything from planting mushrooms to exploration to a speakeasy to concerts.

"We carry eight different sources of light with us on the tram," the driver said as he pulled to a stop, "and this is why."

He threw a switch that turned out the artificial lighting installed in the cave, and the tram was plunged into utter, blinding blackness.

"You can see what it was like for the first explorers of the cave, who came in carrying torches. Imagine what it would be like – "

Dean's energy had spiked, and there was rustling in the tram seat opposite Castiel's. With a gesture, Castiel turned on the light, and the driver broke off speaking, startled.

The soy sauce bottle from the Chinese restaurant, a thin film of blood inside, lay next to Dean. Dean had just finished smearing blood with a paintbrush over a construction paper stencil on the seat next to him. As the lights came up, he was lifting the stencil and dropping the brush, opening his palm.

Castiel seized Dean's wrist in an unbreakable grip. With his other hand, he lashed the belt of his trench coat across the blood sigil, smearing it into uselessness.

Then he looked at the tram driver. "It's a good thing you decided to take this tram on a run by yourself after hours to check it out. No one else has noticed this graffito."

Then he took Dean back to the green room.

Dean said a couple of four-letter words as Castiel caught his breath. That had been entirely too close. "Where did you learn how to make an angel-banishing sigil?"

Dean sighed disgustedly. "From Anna. Remember, she used it on you and Uriel the day before she got her grace back? Sam and I got her to teach it to us before the big hoedown."

"And you took the soy sauce bottle to keep your blood in. How long have you been planning this?"

"Well – planning – I just knew I might want to use the sigil sometime. But then after my exciting trip to nowhere last night I knew I was going to have to get out of here before I could banish you guys, or what would be the point?"

"Why that place?"

"I remembered that moment where they let the cave go completely dark. I mean, I realize your senses aren't the same as ours, but I figured it was the best chance I had. Cas, listen to me – "

"The aspirin. To thin your blood."

Dean gave a flick of a smile. "Made it fill the bottle good and fast. I probably looked pretty sick when I left the bathroom. You probably thought I really was barfing."

"With what did you cut yourself?"

Dean shrugged. "We always keep something sharp up our sleeves. In case we get tied up or whatever."

Castiel looked down into his own hand, at the long thin blade still sticky with Dean's blood, and Dean swore again. He was still clutching the gory paper stencil, and Castiel took it from him. The symbols were correctly cut into the paper, and smearing blood over the round border of the stencil created the needed outer circle. This would have worked. Another two seconds and Castiel would have been thrown through distance and time while Dean made a mojo bag to hide himself from angels and started calling Sam.

"Cas," Dean said earnestly. "I can't just sit here and let the Apocalypse happen. You can't just sit here and – "

Castiel destroyed the stencil in a flash of flame. "You look exhausted, Dean. You need some sleep."

"Are you cra – "

Castiel touched Dean's forehead with two fingers and Dean was asleep before he could finish the word. The recliner materialized under him as he fell.

Castiel lifted Dean's feet onto the footrest and reclined the chair. He found the wound on Dean's arm, bound with a strip of cloth probably cut from Dean's T-shirt but still trickling blood, and healed it. Then he left.


	15. Chapter 15

_The television show "Supernatural" is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc. This chapter contains dialogue excerpts from the episode "Lucifer Rising"__ and "Sympathy for the Devil."_

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Author's Note: Since this is the last chapter, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and alerted this story. It meant, and means, a LOT. You're all great!

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Wherever Sam and Ruby were, they were nearing Lilith. Contrary to Zachariah's prediction, Lilith was keeping herself well cloaked. Ruby was cloaking Sam and herself to the point that it would have taken Castiel an hour to find them. But he could sense Sam's energy, and knew that the young man's tension had been replaced by fatalism.

On Zachariah's instructions, Castiel spent a few hours checking with prophets in other nations, to make sure they understood the full import of what they were seeing. All of them were praying, writing, drinking, or getting laid: It was safe to say they understood the full import.

The prophet in Burma was trying to pray, but having a hard time focusing over the sounds of thuds and slaps and a woman crying in the room next to his.

"She's a prostitute," he explained to Castiel. "This particular client drinks too much sometimes."

"Can nothing be done?"

"He's with the government. Any complaints would rebound on the complainer."

The thin wall shuddered as something slammed into it hard.

"She's had a bad life," the prophet said. "I actually thought about telling her what I was seeing. She has Hell already, she doesn't care what happens if she dies. If she survives long enough to live in Paradise – eh, that would be something for her to anticipate."

Castiel made two stops before he left the country – the rooms next door and a spot 10 miles away where a government official was later found, praying drunkenly for forgiveness, with his eyes burned out.

_That was rash_, he thought, back in the Cotswolds to contemplate.

He'd been told specifically not to take initiative. It seemed like, no matter how much he prayed, something kept pulling him back into his old pride and rebelliousness.

_A man was at home one day when a police car with a loudspeaker drove by, warning everyone that the river was rising and there would be a flood._

Castiel cocked his head in confusion. It was Jimmy Novak, telling him a story.

_"No fear!" the man called to the police. "I have prayed to the Lord, and He will provide."_

_The water rose, driving the man to the second story of his house. Rescuers in a boat came by and offered to take him away. "No," the man replied. "I have prayed to the Lord, and He will provide."_

_The flood drove the man to the roof of his house, and the crew of a helicopter, seeing his distress, hovered over him with a cable and harness. "No," the man said. "I have prayed to the Lord, and He will provide."_

_Then the flood waters washed the man away, and he drowned. In Heaven, he demanded to see God._

_"I told everyone that You would provide," he complained, "and still I drowned."_

_"I provided a police car, a boat, and a helicopter," the Lord replied. "What more did you want?"_

Castiel thought, _Parables are for humans, not angels._

Jimmy was silent.

_Are you saying that I have already received what I pray for? Because, if so, you're not listening. I keep praying for correct thoughts and actions, and I keep backsliding into initiative and rebellion._

Jimmy was silent.

.

By 11:45, Sam's energy was almost more demonic than human. Castiel didn't want to think about how much blood he'd drunk from the demon-possessed nurse. If something happened to Sam and Zachariah broke the news to Dean, or if Zachariah came to collect Dean and it turned out that Dean's role in stopping Lucifer required something horrific, Castiel wanted to be with Dean. In spite of the fact that he knew Dean didn't want Castiel around.

The room was back to normal, except for the burgers and beer still on the elegant marble-topped table. (Castiel thought maybe Dean was right – there was something strange about Zachariah's insistence on keeping those there.) Dean was pacing, frightened, still determined, trying to make a phone call.

"You can't reach him, Dean. You're out of your coverage zone."

"What are you going to do to Sam?" Dean's voice was actually shaking.

"Nothing. He's going to do it to himself."

Dean asked what that meant, was dourly angry when Castiel wouldn't tell him. "Why are you here, Cas?"

"We've been through much together, you and I. I just wanted to say I'm sorry it ended like this."

Dean hit him, then had to take a moment to nurse the pain out of his hand. "It's Armageddon, Cas! You need a bigger word than 'sorry'!"

They were having the same argument, and Castiel's energy felt abraded and raw even to himself. The Apocalypse and Dean's role in it were destiny; no, Dean said, destiny was a pack of lies concocted by Castiel's superiors to keep everyone in line. "You know what's real?" Dean said, his voice intensely earnest. "People. Families. That's what's real. And you're gonna watch 'em all burn?"

"What is so worth saving?" He felt like a dam had broken, almost yelling at Dean. "I see nothing but pain here! I see inside you, your guilt, anger – confusion – In Paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam."

And again, thinking of what Sam was becoming at that moment, Castiel lowered his eyes. This time, though, Dean ducked his head and forced Castiel's gaze to meet his.

"You can take your peace. And shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain, and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in Paradise."

("It's time to think for yourself," Anna had said. And, "The Father you love – you think he wants this?")

"This is simple, Cas," Dean said. "No more crap about bein' a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it."

("You've always been strong," Rachel had said. "You can regain your sense of right and wrong.")

"Now you were gonna help me once, weren't you?" Dean was almost whispering in his intensity. "You were gonna warn me about all this before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me. Now. Please."

"What – would you have me do?"

"Get me to Sam! We can stop this before it's too late."

He looked at Dean, equally intense. "I do that, we will all be hunted. We will all be killed."

"If there's anything worth dyin' for – "

(It was a mother who would not see her child swallowed up by hellfire on Earth.)

" – this is it."

Engulfed by emotion and mental war, Castiel stood shaking his head.

("I provided you with a police car, a boat and a helicopter," Jimmy's bodiless self-assured voice had related.)

"You spineless, soulless son of a bitch." Dean was walking away from him. "What do you care about dyin', you're already dead. We're done."

(Everything calmed in him suddenly as he knew beyond doubt: God had also provided the rough-edged rescuer before him. He must have known that Castiel would need more than three chances.)

"Dean," he said very quietly.

"We're done."

He was right, of course. This was a moment for action, not words.

It took seconds for Castiel to get to Bobby Singer's house and seconds more for him to find the demon-killing knife. There would be other demons with Lilith to assure that her plan was carried out, and Dean would need to defend himself.

He took a few seconds more to think of what the next steps should be. It would take him too long to work through Ruby's cloaking, but the prophet, Chuck Shurly, would know where Sam was. He had to get Dean out of the green room to Shurly's and then to wherever Sam and Lilith were facing off. Zachariah would be keeping his senses attuned to abnormal activity in the green room. Castiel could mask his feelings and intent, but he'd have to make sure that Dean didn't blurt out anything before Castiel was ready for Zachariah.

When he reappeared, Dean was actually lifting one of the burgers to his lips. Castiel grabbed him, spun him, pushed him against the wall and put a hand over his mouth.

He felt physical and emotional shock at the contact. Dean felt defensive fear, then confusion, then understanding. Dean nodded. Castiel pulled the knife from his belt, pushed up his own coat and shirt sleeves and cut his arm, beginning to paint the angel-banishing sigil on the wall with his – with Jimmy's – blood.

"Castiel!"

Zachariah had caught on more quickly than Castiel had hoped. But he managed to finish the sigil and slapped its center. In a flash of light, Zachariah flew up backward and disappeared as though he'd been sucked up by a Heavenly vacuum cleaner.

"He won't be gone long." Castiel actually felt breathless. "We have to find Sam now."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know." He gave the knife to Dean. "But I know who does. We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith."

"But Lilith's going to break the final seal!"

"Lilith is the final seal. She dies, the end begins."

He felt as though he'd been trying to scream that through mud. He felt as though he'd only now emerged from the Chamber.

Shurly was on the telephone when they arrived, negotiating with an "escort service" for a way to pass what he obviously thought would be the world's last night. He stammered when he saw them, and hung up.

"Where is Sam Winchester?" Castiel asked.

"You two weren't in my vision! Nothing remotely like this – "

"It is urgent that we find Sam Winchester now."

"I – I don't – I mean, if you're not in my vision, am I even supposed to tell – "

Dean's voice was almost casual. "Man, you really don't want to live to see the Apocalypse, do you?"

Shurly shot his timorous-rabbit look at Dean. "Um, St. Mary's. Ilchester, Maryland. Lilith's – Lilith's there, you know. She has the same body that she had when she – "

"How close is Sam?"

"Close. I mean, the – uh – the – " Shurly shoved pages from his printer at Dean. "— the big confrontation's at midnight. I guess. I mean, if you two are here, does that mean my visions – "

"St. Mary's?" Dean was looking over the paper. "What is that, a convent?"

"Yeah. But you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story."

"Yeah, well," Castiel said, "we're – makin' it up as we go."

He didn't have time to enjoy the appreciative look Dean shot him. The lights flickered, and a fast-approaching rumble made the window glass hum. Castiel had heard the sound of an archangel on earth before, of course. So had Dean and Chuck, when an archangel had threatened Lilith in their presence. But the target of the wrath now shaking the walls wasn't Lilith.

"Oh man, not again!" Chuck yelled.

"It's the archangel," said Castiel, who never could keep from explaining. "I'll hold him off – I'll hold them all off. Just stop Sam!"

He clapped his palm onto Dean's head, sending him to St. Mary's, and looked out the window at the roaring oblivion headed at them. Chuck put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, as if the angel would need comfort. Castiel looked at the human, and the hand was withdrawn.

"You should get under something heavy!" Castiel had to bellow. "And keep your eyes well covered!"

Chuck didn't need to be told twice.

Castiel waited. It was Raphael, accompanied by warrior angels. He would offer Castiel a chance to surrender – even Lucifer had been offered that. Castiel would ask for a moment to consider, then would abandon his vessel and dart around the angels in his true form, attacking with killing energy, dodging, distracting, delaying them long enough that they wouldn't realize Dean was no longer here.

The terrifying force hovered, the building shook, Castiel braced.

He would die, of course. It was the price he paid for having been affected by the Chamber for so long. He was only sorry that he hadn't had a chance to say goodbye properly to Dean.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death – "

Jimmy was murmuring the psalm. It would be all right; if he abandoned the vessel there would be no reason for the angels to attack Jimmy. Maybe Jimmy could go home to his wife and child.

"Castiel. Traitor." He felt the communication through every energy particle in his spirit, a window shattered, and a tree outside crashed to the ground. Raphael was holding back his power. "Are you willing – "

There was a blast of another energy, easily penetrating any distance, a spirit so virulent that no one who'd ever encountered it could mistake it. Sam and Ruby had succeeded; Castiel and Dean had failed; Lucifer had risen.

Raphael didn't finish the surrender offer; he gave a cry of triumph and struck. Castiel saw a blinding flash and felt moisture as Jimmy's body and his own energy shattered.

.

Nothing.

No, not nothing. If he was thinking of nothingness, he still existed.

Didn't he?

He and Jimmy were separated. He could feel that Jimmy was in Heaven.

But he himself was not a human soul. What was he, a thread of thought?

No sense of light, dimension, form. No sense of other angels. In a way it was like being in the Chamber.

In another way, it could not have been more different.

He was not at all isolated here. He was surrounded, cradled by, a force of infinite love, infinite strength, infinite wisdom.

He had never felt anything like it, but at the same time it wasn't at all strange. Oddly, if he'd been able to speak, he'd have felt like saying, "It's been so long!"

But it was all right. He was so deeply connected to the force holding him that he was understood without having to speak.

And through this force, he was connected to everything else. He knew the unleashed rage and hatred of the risen Lucifer, and the heartbroken sorrow of God. He knew the despairing frantic guilt of Sam Winchester, and the compassion of God. He thought of Lorraine Williams and sensed her, working to separate out the damage done to her soul by her illness from the damage done by her own weakness, trying to intercede for Stephen Mahon.

Was Castiel in Heaven? He didn't think so, not exactly. But it didn't matter. If he spent eternity as a thread of thought in the mind of God, it would be everything he could ask, everything anyone could ask. All those times his spirit had been enraptured by the sound of angelic choirs, the sight of an aurora, the enduring strength and courage of Dean Winchester – all of those were the faintest most pallid hints of what he was experiencing now.

He sensed energy. It was gathering, collecting through and around – whatever he was. He could sense its brightness and movement, his own brightness and movement.

He was becoming an angel again.

He was a little sorrowful at becoming a distinct entity from the force that held him. But if God felt it was for the best, it was for the best.

He understood now what the worshippers of Lucifer had craved – that sense of being completely oneself and also completely part of something greater than oneself. He just didn't understand how they could have thought they would sense that with any being other than God.

Now this was interesting. Density. Matter gathering around his energy, connecting to it and clasping it lightly, like a shell.

A vessel. This was a vessel for him alone, a gift to him from God. God was bringing him back to life – to material life, to Earth.

Both his angelic and physical senses were still forming, but for some reason he felt the need to connect to Dean, and then, without senses, he was somehow hearing voices.

But it wasn't Dean's voice. It was Zachariah, and he was infuriated. "Now Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the Adversary. You understand me?"

Then Dean, sounding agitated: "How many humans die in the crossfire, huh? A million? Five? Ten?"

That was all, but it was everything Castiel needed to know, the final puzzle piece. This was Dean's role, the reason he'd been brought out of Hell. Dean was to be Michael's vessel in the final battle between Michael and Lucifer. No wonder Michael had wanted Dean to be protected. A human who could contain Michael's power without disintegrating had to be very rare, possibly unique.

Dean's response, though, made it clear that he wouldn't agree to be Michael's vessel while it meant the final act of the Apocalypse and a tidal wave of human death. Like all angels, Michael couldn't occupy a vessel without consent. And Zachariah, of course, would try to force Dean's consent – probably by torturing Sam or Dean or Bobby Singer or all three.

Castiel would not let that happen. He knew, with the kind of clarity never obtainable on Earth and seldom even in Heaven, that fighting Heaven on behalf of humanity was why he was being brought back.

To begin with, he would have to stop Zachariah. He wondered if Zachariah would recognize his energy after it had been extinguished by Raphael and restored by God.

And – he couldn't help it – he wondered if Dean would feel comfortable with his new vessel.

A shell was wrapping around his shell, clothing on the vessel, and as he floated something drifted up and flicked across his cheek. The belt of a trench coat.

Castiel laughed, and was suddenly aware of air moving through his lungs, the whispery sound of his laughter, streetlight bleeding between the boards over a shattered window.

He was standing in Chuck Shurly's home, the place he'd been destroyed. Shurly was asleep on the sofa, a bottle of bourbon on the floor by his hand.

He could feel the powerful, enraged, but still beautiful thrum of Lucifer's energy. He could almost understand why angels were seduced by it. Very carefully, he sensed Lucifer's activity – tormenting a bereaved and enraged man into allowing Lucifer to use him as a vessel. For a moment, he thought of rushing to persuade the man against saying yes, but the man had no more reason to trust him than to trust Lucifer, and Lucifer would destroy Castiel as easily as Raphael had.

Zachariah, however, he could take on, even if Zachariah had soldiers with him.

He went to the old sweatshop near Pontiac, Illinois. It was a matter of moments before he found the angel-killing sword where he'd left it.

He turned it in the sensitive hands with which Jimmy Novak, and now he, had been blessed. Although it was receding, he still carried with him a trace of the exalted feeling of being held in God's connective, creative power. Could he even commit physical violence?

Lucifer's potential vessel, beset by horrific hallucinations and despair, was sobbing. Lucifer was unrelentingly determined. Zachariah was fanatically intent on providing what Michael wanted, and was inflicting excruciating pain on Sam and Dean.

Yes, Castiel decided, he could be violent. The dedication of both Heaven and Hell to a planet-destroying battle had to be stopped.

He had always been fascinated by humans, and surely this interest was a gift from God. He hadn't realized that the gift wasn't for him or for Heaven – it was a gift for humanity, to be channeled through him. Now he understood that.

He gripped the sword and flew to save his charges, Sam and Dean.

THE END


End file.
